


New Connection

by AlchemK, Azuiden



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Spoilers, and they were roommates...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlchemK/pseuds/AlchemK, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azuiden/pseuds/Azuiden
Summary: "You've probably stopped to observe the night sky far more than I have. It's a little different every time, you know. As our world spins and the axis of the earth skews, the stars are displaced ever slowly. Indiscernible to the naked eye. I suppose it'd be more accurate to say we change and our perception of the cosmos changes with us." Heartman mused aloud.(Warning for post-game spoilers. Slow burn, will update rating and tags as needed.)
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges/Heartman
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a heavily edited roleplay between me and AlchemK. I've changed a lot of things, deleted a lot of things and fixed it to where it hopefully is cohesive enough for other people to make sense of. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam makes a delivery to Heartman's lab during a blizzard. Heartman invites Sam to stay the night.

Sam had been prepared for the end.

It was ironic when he looked at the full scope of it. Right when he was finally getting to the point of being able to _admit_ his acceptance of a new, sprouting hope, the universe was set to spit right back at his face. Like a push to keep him in his lane, to keep him just as hopeless and complacent as he was his entire life. He had been living day by day, and just when he started to live for the future, the Last Stranding seemed to be there for the sole purpose of shooting him down. What else was he to do but head to Amelie's Beach and wither away?

If it meant that other people would have the chance to look forward to their futures just like he could, then it was worth it. Lou had been in good hands, he wasn't worried for her. Lou would get to live a fuller life than he ever did, and that seemed like a good enough reason for him to see his end.

Until the end didn't come. He hugged Amelie and watched as a brilliant orange explosion shuddered beyond the horizon like God's own nuclear bomb. It was painful, and even in her arms, he couldn't imagine anything else as his vision flashed white all around him. He was engulfed, and all at once, he felt nothing anymore. At least, for a moment— which was a completely relative moment in its entirety. However long he had been swimming in the "nothing," he had no idea.

Sam was gone. At first it was a day, then a week. That should have been enough for Sam to convince Amelie one way or another. The violent storm ripping outside stopped nearly instantly- a good sign no doubt. It gave everyone hope for the future, hope that Sam had succeeded. 

That week turned into two weeks. Fragile, now recovered, could not find him in her mind’s eye, could not sense his location as she normally did. It was then that Heartman had found himself, in those 3 minute windows of death, following not his family’s footprints but searching for another set altogether. Heartman knew better than anyone the difference in time between the world of the living and the purgatory of the beach. The beach was timeless but the seam that would normally connect ones Ha and Ka was ambiguous. Every day not spent searching could have meant a year for Sam. The searching was becoming frantic- so much so that Heartman hardly realized the tracks he was so used to following had disappeared entirely.

Three weeks. A month. The relief was instant when Die-hardman reminded them of the revolver. Heartman wished he could say the subsequent scrambling eased his nerves but they only made things worse. Eyes were set on Sam, gray like so many others Heartman had seen on the beach- dead, unresponsive… Heartman had nearly given up his search just before that point. But they did it. They found him. There was comfort knowing their friend was going to be okay, but for Heartman it also came with an immense guilt.

Sam barely remembered what happened when he finally got out of it— got out of the "nothing”. It was nothing, and then it was everything again as he took a choked breath and opened his eyes. It felt like a second, but his body ached like it had been an eternity. He shouldn't have been alive. He should have been stuck on that Beach for the rest of his days. Instead, he was alive and back in the world of the living, back with familiar faces and back with Lou.

Even with his miraculous awakening, though, no one seemed keen enough to explain to him as to why he was still alive and not wisping away on a Beach. There was talk about preparations and the air buzzed with an energy too professional for his liking. When he was finally recovered enough to hold himself up with his own two feet, they informed him of their plans for the inauguration, and that was that. Two weeks until then. Not that he had any say in anything. Not now, not ever. No one was going to talk to him about what had happened, about the Beach, about being alive again, about Amelie. But he wouldn't pry. It had been the same as before, so he shouldn't have expected anything different.

Porting wasn't different. And while he wanted to say confidently that, with Lou strapped onto him, things felt the same, he knew there was something stirring in the air that wasn't there before. Something called life, something called _hope_.

It was nice.

How he could go back to his norm after saving humanity from the Last Stranding, he had no idea. But he couldn't imagine himself doing anything else. What would _anyone_ do? What _could_ he do?

The job he took up involved delivering scrap metal over to some guy who wanted to see what he could make of it, whatever that meant. The people he met over the course of his trek to span the chiral network continuously surprised him. To the point where Sam had stopped trying to expect anything from anyone or from whatever they were asking for. His job was to deliver, not ask questions, he supposed.

That didn't keep him from complaining, though, when he had to trudge through the snow over a mountain range smothered in BT's. When he thought that the threat was gone, the snow started to whip into a storm and before long he was pushing through a blizzard. Lou cried in her case, pushing Sam further through the white wall of snow. In the white out, he barely made out the shade of a building. It was then when he remembered who exactly lived there. At that point, it might not have mattered so much but a familiar face was more than welcome, especially now.

Heartman found himself back in his home in the mountains soon after Sam was safe. It surprised him how quick people were to give the porter space- or perhaps they were eager to have things return to the way things were. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. With every resuscitation he was finding himself growing increasingly frustrated with the short 21 minute intervals. This was something he thought he made peace with long ago. It didn’t feel like he was waiting anymore, it felt like he was rushing.

Without any warning, Sam burst into the small foyer of the building, shivering to his very core. A shocking pain in Heartman’s chest coincided with a loud bang from the front of the house. Sam fell to his knees, taking shallow breaths as Lou continued to cry. Pushing himself off of his hands, he fell back onto his behind to cradle the orange case in his hand. There were no second thoughts about sitting unwelcomed as he tried to comfort the cries of the infant with a breathy, quivering whistle of a lullaby.

Heartman craned his head to the defibrillator strapped to his chest, eyeing it with some contempt as he habitually reached to his side to knock the chiral hourglass against the side table. The windows brightened then faded from black back to a clear surface but visibility didn’t return. The blizzard still raged outside. _The doors must have been blown open_ , Heartman thought at first. It wasn’t until Heartman shuffled into the hallway that he saw Sam, though he heard the crying first. Heartman’s steps were soft and he waited patiently just at the edge of where the padded floor ended for Sam to attend to the BB.

“Sam.” He whispered, as if he were going to wake the baby, “It’s terrible outside, were you delivering in _that_? I didn’t expect you to be carrying on business after… well, I suppose we are all creatures of habit, are we not?” Heartman gave a sheepish grin as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

As usual, Sam remained silent. The voice wasn't unexpected considering that this was most definitely _Heartman's_ residence. It was another moment before Lou finally stopped and Sam kept his attention on the infant in his arms as he continued to rock the casing gently. Eventually, she gave content gurgles, pressing her small hand up against the glass. Despite shivering under his Bridges wear, Sam could at least feel relieved that Lou was calm now. With the heat of the building having surrounded his cold body so quickly, his hands felt bloated, skin tight around his rough palms and fingers. Taking a deep breath to still his quaking body, he patted his cheeks with now warming hands, finally directing his focus towards Heartman but not moving from his spot on the ground.

Sam didn't expect to be delivering still either. He didn't even expect to be _alive_ in the first place, so whatever his expectations should have been were out the window at this point. They told him to kill time, and here he was, trying to tell himself that he was being some sort of productive. Whatever kind of productive delivering could be seen as, anyways. Sam couldn't be the one to say for sure.

“Ah!” Heartman exclaimed suddenly, “I hope you weren’t planning on going back out. Normally I would be a little wary of uninvited guests but I would say you are an exception, Sam. Come inside.”

Heartman took a few steps forward, nearly offering a hand out to help the other to his feet. A soft “sorry” muttered under his breath accompanied an immediate retraction of his arm. The porter only glanced at the offered hand with a vague twitch of his brow. Heartman turned on his heel, opening the door to his study.

“Would you like a drink? Coffee?” Heartman offered with the same sort of subtle desperation to connect he had the last time Sam was there.

Sam considered just sitting there for another minute or so before heading back out, but with another look out at the thick storm of white outside, he figured otherwise. Removing the cargo atop his back, he let it all clunk on the floor. Heartman eyed the cargo Sam offloaded in the foyer. He didn't remember ordering anything- it must have been one of his compatriots deeper in the mountains. A little rude, he thought, to have Sam hauling anything up in a blizzard after everything. Then again, no one knew _exactly_ what had happened besides the close few that worked hard to put an end to the EE's plans. 

Despite not needing to be hooked up to the BB for practical purposes, Sam was far from thinking practically when it came to Lou at this point. Pushing himself off of the ground with a grunt, he followed the other inside with Lou still strapped to his chest.

"You could just show me where the machine is," he started with a sniffle, feeling his nose start to run. "Wouldn't wanna squander however long you have left awake to make me coffee."

"Hm. Ah. Not a machine. I know, our world is composed of many machines, autonomous and otherwise, but I feel coffee is something that is best done by hand. Like deliveries." Not a machine? Sam wasn't aware of any other way to make coffee. Then again, it had been a long time since he had _had_ coffee. He had been living off of other people, rainwater, and Monster Energy for the longest time before Bridges had started supplying him with things to keep him alive enough to keep delivering cargo. That's all he was good for to them anyways, so they might as well keep their delivery mule in top form. 

"It's not a waste, really. Have a seat. There are blankets if you need them- and don't mind the mess I've been doing a bit of, uh... redecorating." 

Sam’s silence allowed him to listen to the other while he took in his surroundings. A mess was an understatement. The desk was piled with papers, books stacked against the shelves rather than on them, whatever system of organization had previously governed Heartman's study was in a state of complete overhaul. The middle area where the couches faced inwards and the soft floor lead to the lounging bed wasn't subjected to the same chaos, at least. Out of necessity more than anything. Heartman didn't need to hit his head on his way down if he got caught up or distracted. This was the mess created in his search for Sam. He hadn't gotten around to cleaning it up.

"Have you heard of a french press?" Heartman started opening the door at the top of the short set of stairs that led down into the study proper. 

Sam’s eyes lingered before he followed Heartman to the threshold of the kitchen. He elected to stand in the door frame as if not wanting to intrude on what he knew little about; it was safe to say that he knew more about the technology and decor going on in Heartman's office than he did about a _kitchen_. The private rooms he was accustomed to didn’t have a space for cooking. Even before that, he never did any of his own meal prep.

Heartman raised his voice as he went in, apparently intent on continuing his one-sided conversation from the kitchen. "Coffee is best if it’s freshly ground by a well maintained grinder and utilized immediately. It's not dissimilar to basic chemistry. There is a method to it, specific temperatures to meet that lead to different results if done improperly." There was a pause and a loud mechanical whirring before he continued. "With your typical machines, they use pre-ground beans and pour unevenly heated water into one spot of the filter into an unheated mug, which is why I prefer a more intimate process.”

The porter took in the other's information, storing it into a compartment in his head probably labeled something like _interesting and mildly useless information._ At the moment, Heartman was housing him from the storm, so whether or not Sam had a say in it he was going to listen out of obligation and courtesy. After a pause Heartman emerged once more, a cup in either hand. He placed one on an end table for Sam to take then brought his mug to his own lips. His face puckered a bit and he smacked his lips at the burning on his tongue. 

"... I hope you're doing well, Sam."

"Yeah? I'd be even better if Bridges would stop prancing around the fat elephant in the room." Sam, like many others, preferred answers, but they neglected to tell him much other than that they were 'preoccupied with planning the inauguration.' Sam felt the steam against his somewhat runny nose, though withheld from drinking anything just yet knowing how hot it was after seeing Heartman's brief blunder. Sam lowered the cup to show Lou, who pressed her forehead against the orange glass to try to get a better look at the dark drink and the faint wisps of steam.

"They told me to kill time before the inauguration." Sam finally took a small sip of the coffee, feeling the welcome burn against his cold lips. Definitely needed, and the coffee was probably the best thing he'd drank in years.

"By they I suspect you mean Deadman? Social graces are not his strong suit. A common theme among our group. No one told you, then? Talked to you about what happened during your absence? We all scrambled to pull you out of your beach. We didn’t know where you were for upwards of a month… I can only imagine how hard that must have been for you on the other side.” That wasn’t true, Heartman had been trapped on his own beach for far longer than any living person should; he knew exactly what extended stays were like. It was only recently, he supposed, that it felt like a prison. It had been so freeing before. “Far be it from me to challenge orders from Bridges personnel, but what happened… you should be _resting_. When’s the last time you had a day off?” 

"Days off don't exist when you're a porter. I slept on my ass all day after you all brought me back, if that's what you're asking."

While Heartman didn't give enough information for Sam to be satisfied, it was more than he had gotten up to that point and that was enough for him to keep himself from prodding even further. All of them pulled him off of the Beach? Who's Beach? It had to be his own, hadn't it? Amelie had severed her Beach, they couldn't have had any access to it. _No one told me a damn thing,_ he mentally aggrieved to himself. But after being silent for so long, Sam couldn't bring himself to get angry over something like this. At least, he wouldn't be outwardly enraged about it. Boiling over it himself had always been what he did— a product of his isolation. Sam had grown much more complacent with Lou safely strapped to his chest, and being alive was good enough for him.

Heartman furrowed his brows, discomfort washing over his face. “Excuse me if I sound upset, but I expected better. I wouldn’t have returned here if I’d known they were going to leave you in the dark.”

The porter gave a soft scoff. To think that Heartman was upset in his stead...

A chime from the device on his chest sounded, _“Five minutes to cardiac arrest.”_ Heartman seemed to ignore the voice entirely, it was background noise to him. 

"You wanna move to your chair?" Sam scowled at the automated message, finishing off the rest of his coffee. If Heartman fell there, Sam didn't know if he'd move to catch the man. He didn't think he wanted to see that scene play out.

“Huh? Oh.” Lately, sitting still had been making him somewhat anxious but Sam’s presence was distracting enough. Heartman moved over to the lounging chair, _his deathbed_ , and sat back in a practiced motion. Sam followed, standing beside the reclined seat stiffly and diverted his eyes to his empty cup. He didn't have it in him to ask for another, but he definitely didn't trust himself to work the french press himself, even if it did seem simple enough. If anything, Sam expected to break the machine and he'd rather not see how Heartman would react to that. 

“Have you had a _proper_ day off? A night’s rest in a bed. With a blanket and pillow. _And a mattress._ I’ve seen the private rooms porters stay in- no personality, just the necessities. Must be hard to sleep at all—”

 _“Three minutes to cardiac arrest”_ Heartman rolled his eyes, it was more annoying when it interrupted him.

Sam didn't quite know what Heartman was talking about when he mentioned a _bed_ in that tone. The private room bed he was used to _was_ a bed, was it not?

“You and… Hm. Deadman told me you were calling your BB Lou? You and Lou should stay the night. If not for yourself, to let the storm pass. Timefall snow is nasty business.” The mug was placed cautiously on the side table. “I can show you around when I return.”

Heartman left the device to sound off its final warning, body going limp soon after like a macabre case of narcolepsy. His time on the beach was spent staring off into the horizon. The stinging paint lingered in his chest like a persistent headache. Mild but refusing to be forgotten. Three minutes wasn't long, but long enough for Sam to wander. With a slight motion, Sam gently nudged Heartman's cup closer to the center of the table to keep it from being knocked down. He got up and took his own cup to the kitchen to place it in the dishwasher.

Finally, Sam laid down on one of the two loveseats in Heartman's lab. Lou's orange casing glared in a strange way under the dim lighting. Sam held the case up a good six inches from his own face as he and Lou exchanged looks. Holding the case with one hand, he used the other hand to cover his eyes, waiting a moment before removing it quickly to see the bewildered and happily surprised glimmer in Lou's eyes. He scrunched his face up, crinkling the bridge of his nose as he stuck out a tongue, and Lou gurgled joyfully, blowing a few heart bubbles out with a gentle twist in her pod.

The porter had to wonder why and _how_ Heartman could care so much about how he was being treated. It didn't seem to matter much so long as Sam could still walk, so why was it a grievance now? This was the closest he got to discussing anything else aside from the professional matters with any of the core Bridges members. Not counting the spontaneous spilling of personal information on their part. That wasn’t a _conversation_ , though, and almost everyone he came across whether porter, prepper or something in between had that strange habit. His interactions with Heartman only brought the discrepancy to his attention. It would definitely wrack his brain for much too long.


	2. The Scenic Route

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartman gives Sam a tour. Sam receives a special order from the capital.

_"Administering shock. Please stand clear."_

A whirring from the AED built up into an audible shock that sent Heartman shooting upright. He caught a glimpse of the game of peekaboo Sam was engaged in. A smile crept over his face as he panted shallowly. It was cute, even somewhat jarring to see someone as tough looking as Sam being so whimsical. A thumb went up to give Sam 20 likes with a semi-exhausted wink. Sam had been paying little attention to the recorded voice, instead his attention was diverted by the familiar sound of rewarded Likes pinging on his bracelet.

"Where were we? Right, a tour." The leap from the lounging chair to his feet was rather peppy for a man who just had nearly 1000 volts sent through his chest. The chiral hourglass was reset in a swift motion. "You've already seen my study and the kitchen. It is a bit more extravagant than your typical prepper shelter. It gives you something nicer to look at which can make all the difference. For both mental health and generally aesthetically speaking. And I recall you, sir, needing a place to stay." A gesture of his wrist beckoned Sam to follow. Straight through the kitchen, which was infinitely neater than the study, was an open hallway and stairs up. 

Sam strapped the pod back onto his chest but left Lou physically unconnected to allow her a break. The infant curled up and the orange glass filled in black as she went inert. While he _was_ going to tell Heartman that he really didn't need anywhere to stay overnight, the man was already getting up and leading him through the motions. Sam could only respond by getting off of the couch and following behind him. Still, while a tour was meant to provide more knowledge to the layout, Sam felt that he'd be forgetting where everything was soon enough.

"The floor plan was originally intended for 3 people so it is more room than I need by myself. It was built after the voidouts per my own request— though, I didn’t design it myself. I’m certainly no architect. This is the bathroom. Linen closet. The amenities." Heartman went through the motions of moving through each of the rooms. A modestly decorated dining room sat just beyond and commingled with the kitchen. It made for an organized open space that gave the sense of there being more room than there really was. The right hand portion of the space opened into the hallway and stairs. Two doors on the right were identified as the bathroom and linen closet respectively. Having the bathroom in a separate room (or having a bathroom in general) was already a step above what Sam was used to. Heartman skipped over a room on the left, not bothering to open the door at all and instead moved straight to black slate steps that led upward. A short landing on this floor housed only a few decorative plants, a well lit painting hung on the red brick of the back wall, and an already open door. 

"You can stay here." Heartman waved a hand to activate the lights.

The bedroom did not look like it was very lived in as it currently stood. Against the wall just to the side, a modern looking double bed with neatly made sheets called attention to it as the centerpiece of the room. It was flanked by a dresser and a wardrobe built into the wall itself which was opened to reveal a row of suits and casual wear. An orange box similar to the one strapped to Heartman's chest sat at the foot of the closet next to a row of shoes and a few neatly stacked boxes. There were more family photos here, though the one on the bedside had been flipped down. Heartman moved over, trying to mask the rushed nature of his stride with a bit of casual talk while he righted the frame again. Sam gave a once over of the area before his eyes locked on the photograph. This all must have been for his family. The family he had been searching for on the Beaches. Sam could only wonder how that was going for him, if he had ever caught a glimpse of them.

"I spend a majority of my time downstairs. I believe I mentioned before that sleep is a challenge. It's easier sometimes to just continue as I normally would with my work and it would be a shame to let the space go to waste. I don't mind taking the couch-- or the floor occasionally" Heartman laughed at his own attempt at humor. “Er- This is the only bed in the house.” He clarified after the ensuing non-response from Sam.

"I don't really need all this. It doesn't take much for me." To sleep. Though, he certainly was curious about how it would feel on his sore shoulders. He felt a bit too filthy and damp to be standing in a room like they were in now. Or the entire building as a whole, really. "I uh... appreciate it. Though." His nose had stopped running once the tour had begun, but Sam briefly ran a finger under it once more just in case.

In the photos on the walls, Heartman was happy. Grinning ear to ear, holding onto his wife playfully in what was obviously a candid photo. Another showed the three of them, his daughter looking more like her mother than him- if asked, Heartman would say that she had gotten all the good genes between the two of them. The one frame Heartman stood back up was just him and his wife- a wedding photo. Sam’s eyes shifted to the picture frame again, and he thought about his own photograph, still stowed away in the inner pocket of his uniform. If Sam had a building of his own to call home, he would probably frame the picture he'd kept with him. Though, it held more sentiment than it did familial meaning. His fingers itched to pull it out, but he knew that thinking about Amelie again would just make his gut turn in a way that he didn't appreciate. He wondered if Heartman felt the same. Or, at least, something similar. Sam wasn't grieving as much as he thought he would have been, but maybe it would take some time for the reality to set in. 

"This is your room?" he asked, glancing over to the hanging suits and organized boxes.

"Well." Heartman started, tilting his head from side to side like he had been caught red-handed. "This is my room, yes. In truth I haven't been sleeping well recently- _more than usual-_ and I know you value your privacy. If you insist, it wouldn't be that much trouble to set up a spot downstairs."

The porter didn't necessarily care what level of luxury he slept in, nor did he care enough to interject. He shouldn't have even been staying the night, but there he was, keeping his mouth shut and not speaking up about how he should've been back out regardless of a storm. He’d been through worse thus far. But he didn’t say a thing, Heartman filling the brief pause with a further extension of hospitality before he could have gotten a word in anyways. 

With a gesture outwards, Heartman redirected his full attention to Sam after a long pause became too uncomfortable for him. " _It's no trouble at all._ I apologize if I've been monologuing. Perhaps I can learn a thing or two from a stoic like you." Flustered was a good word for what he was feeling. It wasn't that long ago that he was face to face with other people and yet it still felt like forever ago. 

"Listening to you talk is better than listening to the rest of 'em. Sometimes I feel like you've got more useful things to say than they do." The moment of quiet weighed a bit heavier than usual in the air before Sam found his own words. 

A smile cracked back over Heartman’s face.

"More worthwhile." Sam added.

"Thank you, Sam. It's a comfort to know someone appreciates my ramblings." Being described as useful and worthwhile was funny. Of course, he understood what Sam meant and it really felt like a heartfelt compliment however ill worded. Heartman moved to the closet to fish out an extra pillow.

With a glance at the pillow, Sam checked it over quickly before he accepted it.

"You probably want some time back to yourself, I suspect? Feel free to get comfortable in the study and you’re welcome to the shower if you wish. Bridges has a nasty habit of keeping too close to their member's business so you will be happy to know that no one will begin speaking to you over an intercom while you're trying to relax here." Heartman said with no apparent self-awareness that he was one of the ones who did the bothering. It was at that point the porter realized that he was just _accepting_ the fact that he was going to stay over for the night. There wasn't much room for argument there, he supposed. All Sam could do was humor him and stay the night.

#### ***

Sam probably had the best sleep of his life. It felt less like a nap and more like he was actually going to bed. The soft surface of the couch did wonders for his now noticeably aching shoulders. He kept Lou by his side, an arm draped over the bulbous case. 

For Heartman, getting to sleep was a ritual. The most practiced part of it was getting undressed which involved disconnecting the wires from his chest so that he could shed the harness. If he was caught without his defibrillator in the moment he went into cardiac arrest there would be no resuscitation. A non-issue, just something to work around. Laying in bed waiting for sleep was the hard part. Doing nothing made him anxious and part of the reason he had trouble sleeping recently. If he could just fall asleep and wake up refreshed he could forget about it. Instead he had 15 minute micro-naps spaced between beach visits and 5 minutes of waiting for the pain and adrenaline of the charge directly to his heart to fade. It gave him far too much time to think, but he took medication for this portion of his day which at least helped.

The nightmares didn't happen anymore, considering that Amelie had severed her Beach. Instead, Sam just dreamed. He dreamed about Cliff, whoever that man really was. A bloody hand on his shoulder, the man looking him in the face with sadness in his eyes. Darkness. His voice was muddy in his ears, but there was little he could make out from all of it.

First thing in the morning, Heartman checked emails on his cuff link while he made his way to the kitchen for some tea (and coffee for Sam). The AED strapped lazily over a robe with wires tucked neatly between the fuzzy lapels made for an uncharacteristically informal appearance. A message from Die-hardman in combination with a notification that an order had been placed on his terminal allowed him to make an educated guess of what was going to be asked of him.

Out of courtesy, he knocked on the door separating the study and the kitchen before he would barge in. 

"Sam? Are you awake?" Heartman peeked his head through the crack of the door before he opened it fully. "I made some more coffee— er, have you read your emails?"

With a choke mid-snore, Sam woke up abruptly. Just as the other peered through the door, Sam slowly sat up with a groan and creaky joints. Coffee sounded nice right about then. With a mention of emails, though, Sam’s brows furrowed. The porter gave Lou’s case a couple gentle pats before he checked his bracelet for the emails in question. He read the new notification through one eye while he rubbed the other with the meat of his palm.

An email from Die-Hardman. He didn’t need to read the entire thing to catch the gist of it. Sam replied to Heartman with a grunt, swinging his legs over to set his bare feet on the padded ground. In that time, Heartman left and returned an additional, full mug for Sam.

“I’m taking you to the capital,” Sam relayed curtly with a stretch of his arms. “Guess they didn’t want you to walk.” 

"It is dangerous, I understand. BT activity on the mountains is more frequent than at sea level and with my condition- well, it complicates travel. _But_ , it seems a bit... " A tongue ran over his lips as he found his words, "It seems... peremptory. You'd only arrived last night and the storm _just_ cleared up. They certainly are keeping you busy." _Busy_ would be an understatement. But the porter wasn’t complaining— busy, or something similar to that, was in the job description. Sam was just “busier” than most other porters.

The smell of coffee got Sam slightly more alert, the porter getting up to grab the mug the other brought for him. Again, he held the cup lower for Lou to see, some of the steam fogging up the glass. Now that he wasn’t up and about, all he could do was keep Lou and himself occupied. Heartman watched the interaction with some trepidation. He hoped the porter didn't do that in front of Die-Hardman. The last thing anyone wanted was a stern talking to about Bridges policies and conduct, especially from the soon-to-be president. Still, it was sweet to see.

"Do they ever _ask_ you to do something?" Heartman pressed as he took a seat on the second, unoccupied couch with his own drink. 

“They can ask, but there’s never really a choice.” No questions, only strongly worded requests, if he wanted to put it politically. 

"They don't speak to me like that." Heartman added, it was the disparity of it that he noticed the most. Sam's complacency was a close second.

“Because you’re the brains. I’m more like a personal pack mule.” Despite his telling words, the spite was absent from Sam’s tone.

"Right." 

“I need to deliver the cargo from yesterday anyways, might as well take you too”

"I'm, uh, not sure I'd be able to keep up with you on another delivery. You can leave it here and I'll flag down another porter if they happen to be heading up this way- Oh I should get dressed, shouldn't I?" 

Per usual, Sam didn’t say anything, continuing to listen to him talk on. It seemed reasonable enough to have another porter pick it up, yeah. The last porter he had come across seemed to have his wits about him, so at least one of them _had_ to be capable. And just like that Heartman was gone. He was gone a bit longer than needed due to another death cycle but, after he woke back up, Heartman returned downstairs dressed and with a thick jacket (designed to withstand time snowfall) draped over one arm.

Taking another sip of the coffee, he went over to the bathroom to wash up, pulling his hair back as he donned the Bridges jacket and gloves. Sam looked like a different person with his hair up. Frankly, it looked better down. The messy locks framed his face well. Tightly strapping on his boots, he stood there adjusting everything to make sure all the buckles and straps on him were secured. The cargo was still all in the front of the building, all he needed to grab was the power skeleton.

Following standard procedure, the porter laid the tarp down on the ground for Heartman, motioning with an open palm of his hand toward the unzipped bag for the other man to get himself situated. Heartman began slipping the jacket on as he followed Sam back out into the foyer, pausing as Sam gestured to the body bag.

"Oh." A finger pushed up on the bridge of his glasses, "You don't- er, well," Heartman stuttered.

Sam waited, body bag propped open and ready.

"If this is how you... want to do this. Are you sure this isn't trouble?" Heartman stepped into the bag hesitantly before sitting down. Sitting in a body bag was surreal, but this one was meant for the living- _and the dead for 3 minutes at a time, he supposed._ "Off to the Capital then? We're expected— maybe take the scenic route..."

Sam unceremoniously sealed up the body bag. The cold metal zipper stopped just under Heartman’s chin, which Sam pulled back down again a few inches for the sake of the other’s comfort. He picked Heartman up briefly to put him atop the stabilizing device and strapped him in. The layer of tarp helped to ease the discomfort physically, but mentally it was still taxing. With hands crossed over his chest and given little freedom of movement as a result of being packed in tightly with his winter clothing, Heartman was sure he looked foolish. The straps fastening him into place in the reinforced seat-like backpack pushed his defibrillator into his chest somewhat uncomfortably. He would leave the audio of his monitor on. The verbal warning was something Sam would need to keep tabs on as well. Sam was used to the weight by now, and carrying a live body was definitely easier than carrying a dead one— living people tended to try to help balance themselves on his back to keep themselves (and Sam) from falling over. Dead people, however, obviously had no say in whether or not they swayed left or right. _And_ the porter was still very lacking in confidence concerning the matter of catching Heartman if he fell. It was easier to have him on his back, dead or alive, than walking beside him, even if it was less humiliating. Sam let out a huff as he broke the power skeleton out of its casing and began the arduous task of setting it up over his legs. He was more than capable of carrying Heartman without a power skeleton, but this would just make both of their lives easier.

"You said scenic route?" Regardless, Sam was going around the mountain range rather than through it; better that way, he thought. Easier on his knees, too.It wasn’t until Heartman was strapped in that he considered that he should have brought something to keep his mind entertained. Maybe for the best, a quiet journey down the mountainside could be what he needed. 

“Yes. The invitation said I was to be present for the ceremony but I know my colleagues well. They’ll find something for me to do if I wait around too long. Ah— nothing compared to what they have you doing though.”

With the whir of energy in the skeleton, Sam turned around to slip the straps over his shoulders. One last swig of his coffee, too fast to appreciate the care Heartman put into preparing it, was taken before the mug was placed on the fireplace. With a little under 14 days before the inauguration, It would be weeks before it was washed properly.

The blizzard was nonexistent at that point, though the light snowfall still caused Sam’s hood to deploy. 

Hooking up to Lou, Sam tried to blink away the oncoming memory as he stood there. After a moment of gathering his bearings for a couple breaths, the odradek flickering to life then settled once more with a preliminary pulse to survey the outside.

“Mm, I’m sorry that they’re sending you out so soon. I was rather looking forward to showing you a few of my favorite short films.” Short films. Sam didn’t remember if he had ever seen any before. He’d keep it in mind for later.

The cold air in Heartman’s face was jarring and sending a shiver down his spine immediately. He settled just as quickly. Damn research had brought him to the mountains— At least, that's what he called it _._ Perhaps not originally but it certainly developed into that. The scenery was beautiful but Heartman never liked the cold. At this point he’d gotten more used to it than he liked.

#### ***

Initially, it was a little terrifying being strapped to someone’s back. There was a need to brace himself with his arms but being bound meant he was at the other’s mercy. Sam continued to walk for a good while, staying silent as he trudged around the mountain range and dragged his boots through the snow. No BTs yet, but they were bound to come across them at some point. Heartman silently prayed the porter didn’t lose his footing as he observed the jagged terrain poking out from the soft snow stretching out from his point of view on Sam’s back.

“Sam, do you remember anything about the time you spent on the beach at all?”

The question, as tough as it was, was a relief at that point. Someone was finally going to talk to him about it. “Maybe. Seemed like a big nightmare.” Surreal. “Amelie’s voice everywhere, telling me about her damn plan and whatever.”

“Amelie’s voice?” Heartman repeated, twisting his head as if he would be able to face the other from his position.

“Mmm. Like… I was always tired, running forever, sitting around and waiting for nothing. I could have sworn I watched the Last Stranding happen but we’re here, so I must be out of my mind.” He nearly slipped off of a snowy rock before he regained balance and jogged a bit to follow the momentum before slowing again. He’d never done much talking while he walked before. Heartman’s breath hitched before he could respond, the gentle beeping turning into a rapid alarm as his heart rate spiked for a moment. When Sam recovered, Heartman let out a nervous laugh in relief. This would be fun the entire way, he could see.

“I don’t think you’re out of your mind. You are one of the most level-headed people I know. Her beach was disconnected- unreachable to us but still accessible to her. Or so it may seem. When I visit my beach, I’m quite lucid. I can feel the sand between my fingers, the landscape, the sound of the waves, and remember the experience when I return to the world of the living.”

“Mm,” he responded curtly.

Lucid. Sam was relatively lucid when he was at his own Beach as well, but this time was different. Maybe because he was supposed to be stranded there, rather than before when he could just repatriate and was meant to come back.

“When I visit the beach, my consciousness is transferred to my Ka. I’m, medically speaking, dead. But because of the nature of my condition, and I believe due in part to my DOOMS, I don’t truly die. Not in a meaningful way at least. My Ha and Ka remain connected the entire time, though entirely separate. You—” Heartman cut himself off before he could continue. He wanted to choose his words carefully. “You traveled there physically, body and all. The beach is not meant for the living and I think the beach found a way to correct that.” In essence, Heartman theorized Sam had died. Or was in a state of dying with no end, unable to repatriate. How painful that must have been. 

“Yeah. Can’t repatriate if you don’t got a body to go back to.”

“Mmmm.” Heartman hummed in agreement. Sam’s precise way of speaking was a stark contrast to his own.

“Shit was fucked,” was all Sam could say about the occurrence as a whole.

“Yes, that is also a good way to put it. Shit was indeed fucked.” The words sounded misplaced coming from himself and Heartman couldn’t help but chuckle.

The beeping from Heartman’s AED was a good indicator of how he was doing— better than having to talk about it, at least. Sam’s hands went to hold at the straps to stabilize Heartman more. This was almost like listening to Heartman over the intercom, but now the scientist was actually _there_ behind him, and now there was more incentive to talk to him.

“Uh,” Sam started again, “Right now, it’s kinda like normal. Except you’re not on the network, you’re right here. No bullshit.” Sam tried to commit his spontaneous thoughts orally. Heartman thinking out loud and armchair philosophizing each time he was given new snippets of information about the beach wasn’t new, but it was much different in person.

“Only neither of us can hang up.” Heartman added back quickly. “And generally people face each other when they converse as well. I am in awe, Sam, that you could go through all that and not ask questions. You jumped right back on the horse. Die-Hardman likely deems that patriotism or an obligation to your community... Hm, speaking of which, if I’m correct then we should be leaving the influence of the network any minute now.” Heartman was not so subtle in implying a chance for them to talk freely. Connection was spotty in the mountains at times with small patches of dead zones littered throughout the snow capped crests. Negligible in the grand scheme of things, but serving their own purposes well.

At the mention of the network, Sam gave a heavier exhale through his nose. Right. Monitoring. A consequence of the network was having eyes and ears on you at all times unless you subjected yourself to isolation outside of the string of connection.

#### ***

The odradek spun and flickered. Lou gave a couple noises as it pointed with determination ahead of them. Immediately Sam lowered himself, crouching and moving slower as he approached, the odradek spinning faster and faster. Heartman could sense the BTs much in the same way Sam could; with a wave of goosebumps that spread over his arms and chest. While Sam was sure that Heartman was well versed with BTs, considering he was someone doing extensive research on them, the man was currently facing the opposite direction and was left to Sam's will.

"Don't breathe," Sam instructed in a low growl. Holding his own breath as he unclasped his bracelet, approaching the dark cord with the weapon as the BT materialized in his vision.

 _“Three minutes to cardiac arrest.”_ A robotic voice droned through the whistling of the wind. Oh, this was not good at all. Here’s to hoping the snowfall and gust was louder than the damn AED.

“Sam, be careful.” Heartman whispered, unsure if the other could even hear him. All the while he fumbled with his restrained hands. The damn monitor was strapped under his coat and he needed to flip the switch on the very top if he wanted it to stay quiet.

The sounds happening behind Sam didn't help at all, but it wasn't like he could say anything on the matter. He'd just have to work with what they had, he supposed. But walking around with a dead body swaying on his back rather than an alert, live one was definitely going to make working with it much more difficult.

Fingers fumbled with the zipper, the lack of room for Heartman’s shoulders and elbows to bend made the angle hard. “My AED—” The warning was cut off as he craned his head to the side to see the cautionary orange glow of Sam’s Odradek. Heartman held his breath, pulling his lips in with his teeth. Slowly, his hand inched past the threshold of his coat. The cold sweat forming on his calms made the hard plastic top of his defibrillator feel slick to the touch.

With every step, Sam got closer, and just as he was about to cut the cord, the damn monitor had to start talking.

 _“One minute to c—”_ The monitor blared before being flipped off. Very not good.

A hoarse, guttural screech sounded from a seemingly vacant space in front of Sam. He gave a sharp slash at a cord as it materialized in the air against the light of the odradek. The beached thing shrieked and dissolved into the air in a barely detectable display of gold and pitch. 

The sound of alerted BTs screeching was chilling but, for Heartman, the sight of two circling around behind them was utterly terrifying. Tears involuntarily clouded his vision as the first cord was cut. It was a welcomed reaction, he much preferred the menacing dark shapes over the melted faces of the stranded. A deft slash severed another cord of an approaching BT, but it was already too late with all the noise and the sharp breath that Sam took in after holding for too long.

The odradek continued to spin wildly as other BTs started to close in on him. Lou began to whimper, and the odradek flickered from left to right, trying to pinpoint which BT was closest. The BTs moved in with a soul wrenching wail. One was not 5 feet away before it sunk down into the ground to leave tar-filled handprints in its wake as it rushed for them with surprising urgency.

“Sam! Behind y—” The furious howling winds were replaced by the ebb and flow of waves. Heartman knew his body would be safe, BTs didn’t care about the dead. The warning cut short and the weight on his back was now in Sam’s control. He could only figure that Heartman would spend a relatively more peaceful three minutes than he would in the world of the living.

The handprints surrounded him and before he could run out of the way, the familiar wide pool of tar spread around his feet. Black hands grabbed and clawed at his ankles and legs. "Fuck," Sam cursed more out of frustration than panic as the power skeleton whirred to maximum capacity. Pushing himself to trudge through the viscous material, his pants and arm grew slick and stained with pitch. Flecks of black tar haphazardly dotted his stubbled jaw as he forced his way through. 

Sam stumbled out of the area of effect, breathing heavily as the adrenaline let him ride off the energy high. A ringing in his ears almost drowned out Lou’s crying entirely. The BTs moaned and clawed at the ground from the edge of the tar with a slow desperation- as if craving the contact. Sam sucked in another cold breath that stung at his lungs.

"Fuck off," Sam spat and punctuated with an unzipping of his pants. He watched the BT's hiss and shrivel away, the tar dissipating. Lou, meanwhile, was beginning to calm again, giving amused gurgles as she looked up at Sam's face.

Heartman’s body jolted from the shock. His jaw tightened and he could taste blood in his mouth as he bit into his tongue as a result of the muscle convulsion. Heartman’s eyes flicked open just as fast as he was thrown awake to look around. They weren’t being accosted anymore which was a massive relief. Sam may be used to this excitement but he had grown used to the safe and warm interior of his shelter.

“God— oh. Are you okay? I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble. Or, more than I’ve already caused.” He flipped his head from side to side. It was still cold and he could see BTs a couple dozen feet off to their sides, though they weren’t close enough to get their attention. However, he couldn’t tell how far they’d gone in a white wasteland like this.

“Mm.” After a few moments of emptying his bladder and Lou giggling, Sam zipped his pants back up and got himself re-situated.

“Oh” Heartman would have commented about how that was a great idea and congratulated him for thinking on his feet but he chose to keep the sentiment to himself for now. He had studied Sam’s effect on BTs himself but hadn’t considered … such a direct approach. The silence that followed would be his thanks for getting them out of that.

"What'd you wanna talk about?" Sam brought up with a clearing of his throat as he continued to walk. They were close to the edge of the network, according to Sam's map. Of course, being flanked on both sides by rockier terrain underneath the snow, as shown by a quick odradek scan, Sam chose the smoother path. His bracelet notified him when they were off the chiral network.

“Of course. The network. Er— to put it bluntly, I was wondering if there was anything you… couldn’t tell me? The chiral network is useful but a little too useful in some aspects, one of them being that nearly everything could potentially be anyone’s business. Or if you had any questions, too. I thought it prudent to have this conversation before we surround ourselves with politicians.”

Die-Hardman and his staff, that was to say. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the man, he had worked just as hard as anyone else to bring Sam back. There wasn’t much he himself hid from the man- Heartman considered himself an open book. Amelie asked him to help her and in exchange she would help him. That relationship extended to Die-Hardman after she became incapacitated then gone altogether. _But_ , he was also the only one who never opened up. No one knew the real Die-Hardman.

Sam gave an immediate scoff. As if he had been ever holding back. Sam spoke his mind when he felt it necessary and had the willpower too. If anything, he spent so little time speaking that it was more of a concern for those speaking to _him_ to watch what they said while on the network. The porter was rather lax in his choice of words for the most part. That wasn’t what Heartman meant, though.

“I don’t get why they’re treating me like I didn’t just come back from an EE’s Beach. No one’s told me jack shit. I don’t even know how long I was in there for.” Sam’s frustration finally started to bleed out into his tone. “And what about that Cliff guy, huh?”

"Ah." Heartman watched the tracks they were leaving grow shallow as the snow thinned the further they went. That was a lot at once, he would have to address everything bit by bit. "I couldn't tell you why everyone has been so distant about that. I can only guess. Maybe they wanted to give you space, it's no secret that you value privacy. On my side, I saw genuine concern for you. I do believe they care.

"You were gone for close to 2 months. We searched so hard for you, Sam. All of us. Die-Hardman reminded us that you had that pistol and we were able to track you down to your own beach with that. Lockne- Mama found you first, then during my time on the beach I made contact. I don't think you could see me… Fragile aided Deadman in pulling you out using her jump ability. I believe they were referring to it as a slingshot. And uh, truthfully I'm still not clear on Clifford Unger. Deadman told me his files were expunged from the records. He has some fascinating conspiracy theories involving Clifford's history and Die-Hardman. I suggest you don't catch yourself alone with him if you want to spare yourself that tirade.

"We all thought you were dead, Sam. And I don't mean the cosmically meaningless sort of dead that applies to Mama, Deadman and I. We thought you were just gone. For a while at least."

"So did I," Sam grumbled. He had gone into the entire ordeal expecting to never come back, expecting for Amelie to keep him there so that he would never be able to return. So that he'd have to watch the Last Stranding happen right before his eyes. And he could have sworn he did.

The time there didn't feel like two months. It didn't feel like _anything_ , really, but it most certainly didn't feel as long as Heartman was telling him it had been. Sam could imagine the entire lot of them working to search for him, visualizing it even better as Heartman explained their roles in the effort. And of Cliff. His entire background seemed so vague, and Amelie had revealed little, if not nothing at all. Why had he been there? Why had Sam been pulled into whatever Cliff had been trapped in as well? To know that his background was just as unknown in paperwork made things seem all the more difficult. A big fucking mess.

"I keep seeing his face. Cliff's. Every time I plug into the other side," Sam elaborated with a couple gentle pats of the orange casing at his chest. "I don't know if it'll keep happening even after all... this."

"You're still having those? Deadman told me you had been having visions, but for them to be persistent— I suppose that rules out them being connected to the nightmares. Those stopped the moment you went to the other side. For me at least. Maybe they’re not visions- or dreams. Memories. The very nature of the beach makes it perfect for storing and transferring data. Your unique connection to the other side and with Amelie— It’s just an idea, though. Something to look into if I have time.” Heartman was positive Deadman was already digging his nose somewhere that would be relevant. Sam had suspected that much about them being memories, but this solidified his thoughts, especially when Heartman had vocally agreed.

“Mm.” Sam sounded in approval of the idea. “I had a feeling. Seemed like memories. The memories don’t have anything to do with her, though.” He never knew what to make of it all in the first place; what seemed to be memories came and left like fleeting dreams. Deadman had already suspected something similar and told him as much, but he still had questions.

"From here I can only speculate. It is a strange case, but so are you." Heartman hummed, tossing a few ideas around in his head. He would spare Sam the experience of having to sit through him verbally theorizing this time. He'd rather save his however many minutes remaining to appreciate the view.

Getting to a shallow river, Sam started to wade across it, keeping in his head to gather his thoughts before he could try to get them to ever become words. He made sure to watch his step to avoid slipping. Some time between where they were and the middle of a river, Heartman had gone through another cycle. He never did turn the audio back on. He only realized when he came again, just in time to catch Sam's words.

“You, uh... what sights are you expecting to see?”

"I've seen the mountain before. I traveled through here with the first expedition, the landscape from the upper ridge is a sight to behold. I've been crammed in my lab so long I almost forgot how beautiful the rest of the journey was. So… I guess this. Maybe if I'm not in danger of losing the charge on my AED, the chance to just relax in the sun could also be nice."

A break _would_ be nice. Bringing the bracelet up to his focus, Sam checked the map. They were approaching the edge of the chiral network again and the forecast didn't predict rain until later that night. Sam assumed it was safe to say that he could indulge Heartman. He stopped by a stream, patting the straps at his shoulders before he carefully sat himself down on the grassy knoll. He made sure that he set Heartman down (relatively) gently. Sam massaged his shoulders as he unzipped the bag partially for his companion.

Heartman gave a quick smile and a “Thank you.” There was plenty he could say, he was never really at a loss for words but right here sitting peacefully in the cool, fresh air and nothing but the sound of the wind in his ears was good enough for now. Heartman pulled himself the rest of the way out of the body bag to sit by the other.


	3. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the inauguration, Sam disappears. Heartman, distressed by Sam’s absence, searches for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to run through some of the stuff we see happen in-game quickly since it’s kinda pointless to recreate a scene when you can just rewatch the cutscenes- so if those bits seem a bit rushed that’s because it is. Also, a few things in canon have been tweaked out of personal choice or otherwise. I didn't keep a list but I'll try to note them when I find them. One change important to this story is that Sam's wife, Lucy, had Louise before she died. Lou was a month or two old (give or take) before the incident rather than both of them dying while Lucy was still pregnant.

The rest of the trip was uneventful save for the occasional encounter with BTs. They stopped to rest along the way, also allowing Heartman to charge his AED in the process. Spending time with another living person during his time in the waking world felt productive to Heartman regardless of what they were doing. 

Sam didn’t expect much from his trip to the capital. In fact, he was planning to leave right when he dropped Heartman off. Instead, Die-Hardman had insisted that he stay, and while he knew that he had the power to walk out, he didn’t feel it was worth going through the trouble it would put him against. Heartman tried to keep in touch with Sam as much was possible between catching up with everyone else. Refraining from chewing out his colleagues for neglecting to inform Sam was hard and he couldn’t say much besides a few passive remarks. Frustratingly enough, any apologies offered were directed at him rather than Sam. 

A part of Sam thought that he’d have the willpower to stand through the entirety of Die-Hardman’s speech. Standing in the back where eyes didn’t have to reach him, he could see Heartman sitting on a couch elsewhere, occasionally lying down to visit the other side. Though Sam finally broke once Die-Hardman started to (albeit indirectly) mention him, the porter taking that as a cue to leave.

Deadman thought it wise to take him aside, but Sam was, ultimately, grateful for it, as he had gained a lot more information that he didn’t expect he would receive. 

When Die-Hardman caught him in the hall after the speech, Sam considered ignoring him completely. The admission of _murder_ caught his attention better than anything else he could have been told. He could feel his blood run cold as he turned to face the other with a quick swivel of his heel. It was strange that a man he’d practically been raised by elicited so much distrust in him. Even before Deadman’s sleuthing, Sam had been implicitly wary of him. The resentment he felt towards his mother had bled over and seeded into unhealthy skepticism at anyone who was close to her, including John. In the end he was just as much of a rat as Sam thought he was. Still, Sam felt a pang of _something_ as he saw the man cry at his feet.

The following day, Sam was given instruction to decommission Lou. When the time came for him to set her down on the stone slab to be lowered into an absolute death, he couldn’t help but hook her up one last time. It brought on another memory deeper than he had been used to. Like a nightmare he couldn’t escape. Everything unfolded before his eyes like a tragic film reel, ending with Cliff standing before him at the moment of his death— _their_ death.

It had been too much for him. Too much to take in at once. All the more reason to leave with Lou as soon as he could. Burn the Bridges tech that tracked him like a dog. Break open the prison that Lou was in and _survive_.

Sam was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions that eventually settled into a resolute certainty that he should leave. Still, it had been his priority to visit Lockne and have her make him something to carry Lou— or, now aptly _Louise_ — in. Lockne had been the last Bridges affiliate he saw before he went off on his own.

Ironic how he came back to where it had all started, where the meeting with Fragile trapped him in a Bridges web he thought he’d never get out of. The cave, at least, was empty and BT-free, just as the rest of the world was now. It didn’t stop him from using the PCC gifted to him by Lockne to make something of his own.

And so he did. Just as empty as the world around him, but enough for him to survive and have something to come back to at the end of the day. A metal bed, a toilet, sink, and shower. He’d invest in a small stove later, he thought to himself, when enough porting gave him another PCC.

Weeks had gone by and it was peaceful. No Bridges. Nothing. Just Lou, and normal deliveries for normal people.

He didn’t expect anyone to arrive any time soon.

***

Heartman waited at the Capital for a day after. There was plenty to keep him busy but he wanted to have a few words with Sam before he left, at least to say goodbye in person. He deserved it after everything Bridges, Amelie and Higgs had put him through. It was a day more before Deadman very heavily implied some dangerous things. 

Without so much as a farewell... 

Sam _wanted_ to be gone and Heartman desperately wanted to be okay with that. Among peers, they had all agreed this was very much like him, that if he wanted to be found he would come out and make himself known. With news of the legend of legends being missing came an abundance of theories. Some presumed him dead or worse. With the stranding over, it was possible that repatriation wasn’t feasible anymore. Some assumed he’d gone MULE. DOOMS sufferers had higher resistance to chiralium’s effects but they weren’t immune- Sam had been in contact more than anyone. Heartman didn’t believe either of those.

The stranding was over. Or, it had been delayed. Given this new very promising turn of events it was understandable that Heartman had much more to work on. A new topic to study, new papers and reports to write regarding his chosen field of interest. What’s more, beaches and chiralium hadn’t disappeared and the network was still active. Without timefall, chiral crystals were no longer growing like weeds but they could still be found in abundance in areas that had high precipitation. Fragile’s jumping hadn’t been affected and he still was forced to languish on his own beach every 21 minutes. It was plenty interesting. Why, with the seam apparently closed and the stranding effectively put on hold, were they still able to visit their beaches? Did this mean BTs, trapped on this world had passed over or were they simply locked away? If they had moved on, had his family left him as well?

With timefall and BTs gone, and the environment safer, humanity would be able to expand rapidly. Though immediately threats like that were eliminated, that gave room for new problems. Die-Hardman expressed concern about Terrorists and MULES becoming a new level of danger now that they too were unrestricted. Then, besides immediate physical threat from separatist groups, the psychological toll of the stranding would be significant in the general population. Those were problems for the president to deal with, though, not Heartman. 

Die-Hardman advised everyone that long distance travel was still not safe and Heartman was inclined to agree. Even still, against his better judgement, Heartman was quick to take advantage of the new freedom- as limited as it was. 

Heartman could have easily buried himself in his work. He had before and for the last decade done exactly that. It was hard not to let his mind wander to Sam. The unsung hero.

Deadman could not tell him where Sam was. If he knew, he wasn't budging. Die-Hardman was equally useless. Lockne didn't seem to know anything either, which caused Heartman to turn to prepper shelters. He followed up with anyone who may have even remotely hinted at seeing Sam somewhere on the network. He’d even found himself mirroring Sam’s paranoia of surveillance and went as far to visit in person as to not leave a digital footprint.

Travel by foot was hard, of course, especially with the necessary frequent breaks. It wasn’t as though Heartman was fit. Physical activity for him consisted of walking circles in the study. Being mildly winded would be more than worth it to know that Sam was okay, though.

It was only after seeing the effort and turmoil Heartman had put himself through that Lockne confided in him about Sam’s final visit. About the supplies she’d given him and who he’d been traveling with.

The news was shocking. More than shocking, but being _told_ something was far different than seeing it. He wanted to be upset that she hadn’t told him— but why would she? They were co-workers at most. Of course they all considered Sam a good friend but no one had idle conversations with him or leisurely visits. Heartman, as far as he knew, was the only one who even attempted to become acquainted in a way that friends might via unanswered emails and awkward extraneous calls.

He had to see it for himself.

If Sam was using a PCC, that meant he was on the network. If he was on the network it meant he could be tracked.

It was an arduous journey. It felt bitterly familiar to make his way through the untamed landscape without even his cufflink to guide him, following nothing more than a hunch. It was at that point he began to question _why_ he was doing this. Heartman was never the type to half-ass anything but even this was dramatic. The thought didn't have the chance to plant roots of self-reflection in his mind before he stumbled upon his destination. A cave where he’d marked off an isolated structure signal.

***

Lou slept soundly in her crib, Sam eyeing it occasionally as it slowly rocked back and forth. He'd have to go out and do another port for another week's worth of milk and formula for her, but for now, they were set. 

Now that Lou was out of the pod, Sam could only remember his past. Lucy and Louise were just as much a blur in his head as they were a constant presence— close enough that he could have sworn he could reach out and touch them. Lou was a chance to start over, even if Lucy wasn't there this time.

That being said, taking care of a baby wasn't entirely unfamiliar for him as much as it was a distant muscle memory. Lou was his life now, and he'd make sure to keep it that way. Nothing would get in between them, and it was this fond protectiveness that kept him and the baby so close. He'd fight Bridges tooth and nail if it meant keeping Lou safe and out of their hands.

So when the brief alert sounded, Sam immediately rose from his spot at the edge of his bed. Hair down and uniform off, he was left only in his baggy pants and a familiar tank top. There was little time to put anything on if he wanted to respond quickly— no one ever had ever come up to his set-up. 

With a last backwards glance at Lou, he grabbed the Magnum atop a shelf by the door and looked at the camera display. _Had Bridges finally tracked him down?_

Heartman studied the outside of the base curiously then his surroundings. A brief spin around told him nothing. There were footprints in the mud but not much else. Even through the fuzzy resolution of the feed, Sam recognized the awkward posture and garishly bright colors of the figure. What was he doing here? Did Bridges send him to pick him up?

No, he could _trust_ Heartman, couldn't he? Heartman wouldn't have turned on him… Even if he had, Sam could think of few people less threatening than the beach scientist.

As Heartman stepped forward, the door slid open. It had been a good couple weeks, and while Sam couldn't admit to himself that he missed seeing any Bridges faces, Heartman had lingered in his mind for longer than he had expected.

Looking beyond the unexpected visitor, Sam couldn't see any telling vehicles or other personnel, which prompted the porter to quickly beckon for Heartman to come inside with a couple of insistent gestures and a stern expression. The longer he kept his door closed, the better. And he didn't know at what point Heartman was on in his 21 minutes, so he didn't need Heartman going down for the count right outside his doorstep.

A look of astonishment crossed Heartman’s face, eyebrows raising and eyes widening. How long had it been this time? A few weeks. Over a month, he pondered with a hand pushing up his slipping glasses. He was happy to see Sam, genuinely. Ecstatic even. But before that feeling could push itself to the surface a surge of anger rose up instead.

"Wh—S- _you_ —" Heartman stuttered. Fortunately for Sam, the words were having a hard time forming cohesively at the moment. He stepped inside, spinning back around to the other, ignoring the telling blips from his monitor advertising his elevated heart rate.

"Sam!" He raised his voice some, but he wasn't yelling at least. He didn't want to get to that point. His eyes flicked down to Sam's other hand, the one previously hidden behind the door frame. Confident that they weren’t endangered, Sam placed the gun back in its spot on the shelf with a huff.

"Is that a gun?! Were you planning on shooting someone? _Sam?_ " More stuttering, much worse now that he was flustered. The noises after that sounded like they were meant to be words but the bewildered stammering was indecipherable and made Sam aware of how relatively silent he lived in his isolation until now. At some point, he should try to tell Heartman about how interesting his accent was. Not a good time for it now, though, as the other man was clearly agitated about something. About _him_? Context clues didn't help point him towards anything very obvious.

Heartman had to take a deep breath to gather his thoughts, but his eyes wandered over to the crib and shot back to Sam questioningly as if asking a dozen questions at once. 

The porter followed the other's eyes to the crib and back, making direct eye contact with the other's expressive judgement before he had to avert his gaze again. Taking a BB out of its casing was against the law, that much was made very clear to him before he had left, and he was sure Heartman was rather aware of that as well according to his demeanor. That couldn’t be why he was there, was it?

Sam's silence was unbearable. The porter could communicate in solely confused glances if he wanted. Heartman watched Sam's eyes track to the crib and back and when he wasn't given any answers for his inquisitive looks he opted not to step towards it. Sam was absolutely capable of hurting someone, and Heartman would crumble like an autumn leaf under foot if he had to go up against him. But Sam didn't want to hurt anyone. At least he hoped.

"What are you doing here?" Sam gave a weighted exhale as he sat back down at the edge of his bed near the crib. _How did you find me?_ Is what he wanted to ask but he had an idea about that.

"What am I doing here?" Heartman parroted as he took a seat in a metal chair a few feet away. "What are _you_ doing here? You left us, you left everyone. Do you know what people are saying about you? That you're dead, that you're a MULE, a terrorist? It took everything I had just to get here and if it were anyone but me I'm not sure they would have made it this far. You're a ghost, Sam!" Hands flew out in front of him, gesticulating a bit more enthusiastically than normal.

"Christ. I know you never liked the UCA but... This?" Heartman motioned around the entirety of the small one room bunker. "That?!" He twisted in his chair to point at Lou's crib.

To leave the UCA behind and be left alone was Sam’s intention but the way Heartman characterized it by tone and demeanor alone made something in Sam's gut twist.

The porter couldn't give any shits about what people thought about him now. His reputation had never been something he took his energy to be concerned about, but he didn't think that _other people_ would have cared so much about it. Cared so much about _him_ . Enough to get all the way there just to walk up to his door. Sam hadn't seen a vehicle outside— did Heartman _walk_ all the way here? For him? He was crazy. Respectable, but crazy. It couldn't have been worth it.

" _What am I doing here!_ Is that a serious question?" Heartman started again with an equally frustrated and exasperated huff. Even his anger sounded delicate in his gentle voice. Heartman reigned his hands back in to cross them over his chest but not before checking his watch for the time. The watch was new, something he'd gotten just for this search. If he didn't have his cufflink, which he'd left at home, he needed some way of tracking the time before the 5 minute warning.

"I didn't want any of this— the UCA. Didn't wanna be a hero," he grumbled, getting up even though they had both just sat down. "I left for her," Sam continued as he moved to a compact fridge in the corner of the room to retrieve a small bottle of milk. He squeezed the bottle in his hand to warm it as he looked into the crib.

Perhaps, some part of it had been for himself, to return to what he had grown accustomed to even after having been spoiled by the indirect care of others. 

There was obviously something being tossed around in the porter's head. Sam had that very familiar look stamped on his face. Heartman tried his best not to interrupt him, but Sam spoke slowly in small bits and with every word Heartman was more sure that the other had missed his point.

"I didn't wanna hear it. They wanted me to burn her." As low and gruff his voice was, there was a subtle softness that appeared, as fleeting as it was. Sam couldn't imagine a point in time when he would do it, when he _could_ do it. How could he? A law was forcing him to give up one of the things that he had finally come to hold close to him after so long of pushing everything away.

Heartman dropped his head, putting it in his hands. Of course he understood _why_ Sam did it. It was the same reason Sam didn't want to be a part of the chiral expansion. It was the same reason Heartman spent so many years searching the beach. Except Sam's reason was much better than his own. He'd put his faith in a living person.

Lou began to wake up with groggy gurgling. With a gentle touch, Sam tickled her stomach with an index, the infant's eyes sparkling with amusement as she giggled and grabbed onto his finger with her small hands.

"Deadman told me what they wanted you to do." Heartman stood to move over to the crib. He leaned over to the side to watch Lou grapple playfully at Sam’s hand. "I don't know that I would be able to do it either, but… you can't do this. You can't live in the middle of nowhere. What if she needs a doctor? What if you need one? You're here alone in a shelter that was never designed to be lived in more than a few days at a time. Why— you could have asked for help. You could have said goodbye! You just disappeared _again_."

Lou looked up curiously at the new face peering down at her from over her crib. Sam’s own gaze was fixed on him too as he tried to figure out what exactly Heartman was playing at.

Hadn't they all expected it? Why would Deadman even give him the suggestion if not for him to take it? Deadman and the rest of them knew how much he wanted out. If Sam could have it ideally, then he would have lived with Lou doing independent porting while being far from alone with the other people he had grown to trust. Lonely, but not alone. He was content living like this. If he needed to, he'd carry Lou to wherever she needed to go. It was obvious that Heartman was discontent, even rising in anger, Sam could say. Disappointed, perhaps. Something in him was telling him that those weren't Heartman's biggest grievances, though.

"I started looking as soon I realized you weren't coming back." Heartman added after the customary non-response from his companion. 

_“5 minutes until cardiac arrest.”_ the AED added helpfully. Heartman hung his head as he trailed back to the chair, lest he lose track of time and collapse.

If Heartman stared long enough, maybe he would be able to catch something. A slight twitch of Sam’s expression, some sort of subtle gesture or mannerism. If he could just decode it… Sam was more cryptic than the beach. The beach was easy. Quiet, not unlike Sam, but answers could be dug up with persistence whereas Sam was an impregnable fortress of cinched brows and ambiguous grunting.

"You didn't have to," Sam mumbled as he finally looked away to pick Lou up from her crib. He held the hand-warmed bottle up to her mouth as he sat back on the edge of his bed. _Did you miss me? I'm sorry, I didn't know you cared._ The statements raced through his head but neglected to go past his lips.

“I didn’t have to?!” Heartman’s words were dripping with disappointment but didn’t rise above speaking volume. Heartman’s eyes flicked to the infant in Sam’s arms. She didn’t have anything to do with this and frankly he wished the room was bigger so that she could be tucked safely away from any ensuing arguments. It was the only reason why the words Sam _finally_ said didn’t result in him shouting.

“None of us had to try to find you after you went to Amelie either. We could have all given up before we tried. No, I think I _did_ have to come here. You can’t just lock yourself away from everyone. I really don’t want to lose someone else.” It sounded a little selfish but maybe he was right to be. He wasn’t sure. He needed more time to think, though he knew if he had any to spare he would use all of it to worry.

Sam didn’t give any outward indication of acknowledgement. Heartman was afraid of _losing_ him? The only thing he had been doing for them was porting and then suddenly he became their hero. Bridges had to have thought of him as a tool that they’d readily continue to use if he allowed them to. But Heartman? What did Heartman need him for aside from research?

A sliver of guilt slithered up into his chest, but from where, he had no idea. Guilt from the past? Guilt of the now? And of what? Hearing the other's disappointment and disgruntlement could have been the source or at least a part of it. Heartman wasn't _blaming_ him for anything, but Sam could tell there was something that the other man was implying.

 _“Three minutes until cardiac arrest”_ the heart monitor spat out between a few erratic beeps.

“Always the worst timing. I must look crazy right now, hm?” Eyes dropped down to the floor and he let the silence fall, not expecting Sam to respond. Waiting for his heart to give out and force him to take a break. 

"I don't know what you want from me," Sam admitted.

Heartman nodded, mimicking Sam’s infatuation with muteness. It made him uncomfortable, even with the soft sounds of his AED and the cute gurgling coming from Lou preventing the deafening ringing of true silence. His heart was still going and he brought a hand up to his chest, under the device as if that would calm it down. His fingers brushed the metal and plastic leads that guided the wires to his chest. His hands were sweating too despite the cool air.

The final one minute warning blared, advising him to find a safe spot to move to. The chair might’ve been fine, but he didn’t trust himself not to fall out of it or tip it over some which way. Sam's eyes followed as Heartman went to lie himself down on the ground and Heartman inspected the ceiling for a moment before he raised his arm to set an alarm on his wrist watch.

“Could you do me a favor Sam. A small one, and I know I’ve asked many favors from you before. If anything I owe you a greater debt. Please just consider coming back. Not to the UCA or Bridges. Just…” Heartman trailed off, eyes shutting and arms falling limp to his sides before he could find the right word.

Sam's expression shifted, brows furrowing into a knot. The bottle continued to hover just out of Lou's reach, and it took another moment of silence and Heartman's temporary passing to remember to bring the bottle back down for her to suckle at.

It was silent again and in a burst of action, despite knowing that Heartman had set his own timer, he still set three minutes on the digital clock at the little alcove in the wall beside his bed. 

Looking over at his body again, he could only wonder how far he wandered on the Beaches to find his family. If Heartman would ever find them. He wondered how many others Heartman’s found on the Beaches, if he’s found other lost people that others have been looking for up above. If he’s ever found Lucy and Louise. But Sam would never ask.

When Lou finished off the bottle, he picked her up and put her back in her crib, dimming the lights in the base as he put the empty bottle on the small nightstand. "Just" what? What did Heartman want him to come back to, if not Bridges or the UCA? What else was there to come back to? If it meant abandoning Lou, then there was no question there. Sam wasn’t much for trade-offs in the first place, but this was a second chance that he couldn’t have taken away from him. Heartman wasn’t a bad person, far from it. But his intentions were unknown to Sam at this point. 

Heartman had to understand. He would have fought for a second chance if it were possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing dialogue between Sam and Heartman is... interesting. Heartman talks too much while Sam doesn’t talk enough. You end up with a problem: Having Heartman talking to himself too much while Sam stands around doing nothing or filling the void with more conversation from Sam and potentially make him feel out of character. I chose to solve this by interspersing the gaps between spots where Sam would just sort of stand there and stare blankly with some internal introspection. Unfortunately this also gives the narrator a confusing perspective somewhere between omniscient and having limited information based on which of them it's focusing on from one moment to another. This isn't something that's going to change though, so buckle in I guess.


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartman offers a compromise- somewhere between Sam living isolated, off the grid, and coming back to Bridges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added tags for suicide mention and death mention. This doesn’t reflect the actual content of the story, but since Heartman and Sam’s family are going to be mentioned throughout this, I thought it’d be best to put those there. 
> 
> Also, another note on Things-I’ve-Changed: I wasn’t very happy with the e-mail Heartman sends you in-game to tell you he’s moved on. As a hispanic man myself, the description of “spirited hispanic woman” came off as really fucking weird and uncomfortable (why was that description necessary??). So, we’re going to pretend that didn’t happen.

"Sorry." Heartman muttered. A stinging pain spread through his chest but slowly dissipated as he worked through the initial disorientation and grog of returning from the beach to return to his seat. Upon hearing the other begin to speak again, the porter wondered if the three minutes away placated him. 

"Uh, I don't think I've said this before but it's nice to see you again, Sam. You  _ and _ Lou. She's beautiful." Heartman's eyes raised up suddenly, "You were touching her." He was so busy thinking about everything else that he hadn't noticed it until just then.  Of course, a baby needed to be touched and held but Heartman wondered if Sam was sacrificing his personal comfort or if there was no discomfort at all.

Sam glanced at the crib at the mention of Lou. He could vaguely recall his memory on his Beach. It seemed more like a nightmare than anything, but it was after the voidout that took out corpse disposal. The baby that wailed there on the wet sand, cold and frail. He remembered cradling her to his own naked chest as they cried together. Then, he repatriated, and, perhaps, that had begun his true meeting with Lou.

"Are you—?" Heartman raised a hand in some vague gesture, half way reaching out to the other but not taking any action to actually touch Sam.

Instinctively, despite the distance from Heartman, Sam moved back to avoid any active motion to touch him. It was a reflex for him. While Heartman was trustworthy, there was little he could do to resist the gut reaction to the instinctual discomfort of anticipated physical contact. Heartman dropped his hand into his lap. No offense was taken, it wasn't something Sam could control. Heartman bowed his head a bit at that, mouthing another apology. 

"You gonna finish your sentence? Something about a favor." 

Teeth bit the inside of his mouth and lips when Sam spoke up again. He wished it was to return the sentiment, say that it was nice to see him too. but it probably wasn't. He'd shown up unexpectedly, uninvited, and proposing things that may have been upsetting in nature. God- wasn't he right to do this though? There was no other way he would have been able to talk to him.

"Ah. Well, I had a thought. You could come back with me?" Heartman held up a finger quickly, as if to interrupt any objections Sam might have before he could finish. "I left my cufflink at home. No one knows I'm here and I'm  _ not _ proposing you join with the UCA or make yourself known to the public! Just.  _ With me. _ We can figure it out. There's options other than isolation. I'm— having uh—" He didn't want to say that he needed him, he didn't want to sound desperate (though it might be too late for that), but he did feel like Sam was the only one who understood him. Thinking about it too hard felt like a pain in the center of his heart, cold and wholly unlike the typical thrumming he was used to. 

"There are options." He repeated instead.

Sam had been used to doing favors. That's what he did as a job, essentially, only favors seemed more optional. Disregarding his status as a porter, favors were still a usual occurrence for him. He wasn't one to outright reject anyone, and if he were that averse to being helpful in some way, then he wouldn't have taken up being a porter in the first place. What Heartman suggested didn't exactly _sound_ like a favor. Sam's confusion was apparent on his face again, expecting Heartman to bring up exactly where the favor came in. That must have been it, though. Just going to live with Heartman instead of out here where he could soak in the isolation, Sam surmised. 

"You need me there for something?" Other than that, there was no reason for Sam to leave his current situated living area.

"Sam..." Heartman sounded pained, glancing to the floor. Of course Sam was still confused. Heartman had a much easier time explaining his beach and his quest for his family, despite it being so personal, because it was an accepted fact of his life.  With a steady breath, Heartman continued,  "I made a mistake. When we met in person that first time, I told you about my wife and daughter. That I was searching for them on my beach so that I might pass into the afterlife with them. I told you I was already dead but I see now that isn’t true. I'm disappointed that I allowed myself to be misled by grief so severely. I wasn't dead, I was—  _ am _ very much alive a nd I needed help. I don't know what you did that made me realize that but I'm here now with the wisdom that life is made of connections just as much as death is."

The tension in the room grew thicker and Sam could respond with nothing but a scratch of his arm. Still, he did well to listen to Heartman's plight as he stuck his hand in the crib for Lou to play at, suckling at his rough fingertips and giggling as she grabbed and kicked at his hand.  There was a lot more Heartman could say, but he was regretting every word that came out his mouth. It needed to be said, he only wished he could have told Sam in a friendlier environment. 

"I don't need you there. I want you to decide for yourself, but maybe ask yourself why you need to be here. You've forged many meaningful connections. Deadman helped you, Lockne helped you and if given the chance I would like to help too."

Did he... stop looking for his family, then? No, he couldn't have. Heartman had dedicated so much of his time to it. Sam had a hard time envisioning that Heartman would just drop it like that. Yet, knowing that  _ he _ had been a catalyst for something like that made the core of his chest clench. Heartman needed help and how Sam initially offered that, he had no idea. Nor did he know how he would continue to offer that, but it wouldn’t be in his nature to deny this call to action.

Heartman’s throat felt dry after all that, especially with the way Sam’s face twisted in response. Was that bad? Did he fuck up? Did he come all this way for nothing? If it came down to it, he would visit. It would have to be limited given distance but if Sam really would rather stay closed off from the world, Heartman would put in the— What was he doing?

Silently, the porter grabbed a hair tie to pull his hair back. The porter jacket was slipped on with a learned motion and the fridge was emptied of its contents into a small metal crate. An ice pack or too was added as well before he secured it to his back. Heartman swiveled his head, sitting up straighter from his hunched, dour position. With an exhale, Sam looked around the compact space, knowing fully well that, as much as he had lived in it, it barely looked lived in at all.

Hooking a leg of his sunglasses on the collar of his gray hood, he strapped on the small carrier that Lockne had designed for him over his shoulders and across his chest. Lou fit snugly into the sturdy straps, making no fuss in being relocated. It was one thing handling and carrying a hundred or so kilos, but it was another handling a frail baby like Lou, and all Sam could do was try his best to be as soft-handed as he could be.

_ Was he… packing? _ Heartman wondered. _ No, it couldn't have been that simple. _ It'd only been maybe 40 minutes, most of which was spent with Heartman rambling on and on with Sam giving a range of quizzical looks without saying more than a sentence at a time.

"What are you doing?" Heartman shuffled in his spot, inching towards the door in case he was asked to leave- or worse, left alone without a word.

"Taking my shit. Thought we were gonna leave." Sam responded. 

"What?" Heartman's voice cracked and he cleared his throat with a cough, " _ Right now? _ " 

With a couple configurations, the crib packed itself into a more portable prism-ish shape, which the porter also placed on his back. Of course, Sam made sure to take the gun too as a precaution.  He stopped in the doorway to give the room another once over. The photograph, Sam remembered, still sitting in the alcove next to the bed.  It was the same one, hadn't changed ever since the timefall got to it. He had meant to throw it away sooner, but he'd deal with it later. Sam shoved it into the pocket of his pants before he walked around Heartman, opening the door of the base back into the cave.

"Bike's 'round the back," the porter informed gruffly. He kept it parked deeper in the cave where he let it mooch off of the chiral network's charging.  There wasn't much of a choice about moving outside. Sam had packed up so quickly that Heartman had hardly realized he followed the porter outside.

"A bike." Heartman repeated and moved around where Sam had indicated. He approached it, looking back at Sam as if asking what he was supposed to do with it.

Sam gave a low, disgruntled clearing of his throat as the thought of Heartman coming into full contact with him formed in his mind.  The sound of discontent wasn’t reassuring. Heartman didn’t say anything, figuring that maybe Sam would offer to walk instead. He’d done it. It took forever but it was definitely possible with a degree of patience, conviction and frequent breaks.

Sam didn't have any other form of transportation on him, and he didn't want to have to stop every 21 minutes for Heartman. While Sam wasn't concerned about his safety, considering he would be there to protect him whenever they took a break, he didn't want to go through that trouble. This would get them there faster with less breaks in between.

Sam tried to shimmy the jacket he only just put on out from underneath the straps. He let it hang around his abdomen and waist, his arms now exposed. He gave a chuff and straddled the seat of the bike. Faint goosebumps already threatening to spring up just with the thought of how close Heartman would have to get.  Heartman glanced down at his feet. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen the porter’s arm’s but it was the first time he noticed how built he was, how good he looked in a tank and on top of a bike.

Sam gave a jerk of his head to motion towards the space behind him.

"Don't touch my arms." He didn't mean for it to sound like a threat, but Sam didn't know how well he'd be able to control the bike if he felt anything at his skin. The cargo would be in between them in the upper region, but Heartman had to hold on somehow. 

Heartman  _ very _ gingerly threw his leg over the side. It was large, clunky, and vaguely threatening just from it’s probability of causing his early death. He would not be too happy if, after living for so long with a history of genetic heart conditions, this three-wheeled monstrosity tossing him against a rock was what punched his ticket.

"Keep the jacket between wherever you touch," Sam directed before slipping on his sunglasses and turning the bike on. The blue LEDs hummed to life, casting a blue glow around the dimly lit cave. He let the bike shift. The front wheel split into two to give them more stability. His first passenger that wasn't being carried on his back. He didn't know if this counted as porting or not.

“Right. Of course. No arms, just the jacket. I’ll try to be careful. If you’re sure.” Heartman awkwardly wrapped his arms around Sam’s midsection. It felt foreign but he tried his best to be gentle. Both hands rested on the other’s sides, over the jacket and a little towards the front, but not meeting around his waist. Heartman was tall enough that if he leaned too far forward, his head would be peeking over Sam's shoulder. With his hesitant grip and nervous shifting, to an outside observer it might have looked like an awkward prom photo where Heartman wasn’t quite given permission to engage in risky contact.

Sam sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth. His grip tightened on the handles of the bike, the smooth rev of the bike perhaps hiding the shake in his arms. The jacket between Heartman and his body helped alleviate the thoughts, but it didn't keep the goosebumps from settling on his arms and neck.

He held up an open palm to gesture to the man sitting behind him: "Five minute warning, then we get off."

“Er- Yes, my monitor is on.” Heartman stumbled over his words and tried to speak over the elevated beeping from his AED. “Do you not have helmets? I feel like these come with helmets.”

"Funny." The last time he had seen a helmet, he had been eight and learning how to ride a scooter. Sam cleared his throat, finally pushing off and driving the bike around the base and out of the cave.

“ _ What do you mean, funny?— _ ”

When they took off, the reserved grasp around Sam quickly tightened. With the terrain being as bumpy as it was, Heartman had little choice but to hold on for dear life. Heartman at least prevented himself from doing it too hard- not that he had the raw strength to do anything besides make Sam moderately uncomfortable. With his eyes closed for half of it, he didn't notice the battle Sam was having with himself over maintaining composure. The shaking, the sweating, and the gritting of teeth would be a lot more apparent if they weren't going nearly 100 miles per hour over rough terrain without helmets _and_ an infant on board. Meanwhile, Sam tried to balance the anxious thoughts with navigation. It was ironic that it was near this place where Sam had lost one of his bikes.

He wouldn't tell Heartman that, though.

Riding down the mountain had been the hard part, but after that, it was smooth sailing. Sam made sure to take the paths between the rocks and the shallow sides of any river they crossed. He would say that he prided himself over his skills, but then could only think about the bike that slipped over the edge and that pride fell off the cliff along with said bike.

Sam was sure that if Heartman needed to, he would tell him to stop. And while Sam always thought it, he was never one to ask if anyone was alright or not. The sentiment never went past the mental stage onto the vocal one, so it stayed stuck in his throat as he continued on, reveling in the happy sounds that the baby was making. At least one of them was enjoying this.

***

Sam drove significantly faster given the snow and the chill without his jacket, and while they were lucky the sun was still out, he was sure that Lou would appreciate the warmth as soon as possible. Being so close to his body helped keep her warm for the short time they were out in the colder environment, at least.

When they had finally arrived, Heartman couldn't give much more than an exaggerated sigh of relief. The cold was back which was, strangely, a comfort to the scientist. He offered his own jacket to Sam but the question didn't seem to register. That was probably a no. 

Parking the bike out front, Sam followed his host inside. The (relatively) light load was unpacked in the entryway and his hair let down. He  collapsed onto the couch as soon as he was inside.  Lou, removed from her carrier and set beside Sam, idly played with the discarded hair tie. 

Now, Heartman felt a bit awkward.  _ Thankfully,  _ Sam decided to return with him but it occurred to him how much there was to do. Accommodations for Sam and Lou, where he would eventually relocate them and what to do about the network—  _ the network! _ Heartman rushed around the room pulling the plugs from his external monitor displays and computers, the latter of which had to be accessed through a panel on his wall. 

Sam was trying to re-compose himself, wiping at his stomach through his tank top as if trying to get the feeling off of him. Bridges monitored from those things too? But didn't Heartman need those things? Sam would rather not be tracked, but he couldn't think of any other way Heartman would get his work done. Though the guy was intelligent enough, Sam mused to himself. He'd probably find some way to make things work.

"If you want to relax, or shower, what have you, I can keep an eye on Lou." Heartman said with an exhausted smile punctuated with a final yank of a cord. The freely hanging wires added to the erratic mess of the living room. There was a very short attempt to square out the papers on his desk before he moved to the opposite end of the couch to slump back instead. 

Heartman held his arms out, looking between Sam and Lou as a signal to be handed the kid. He didn't think he needed to assure the other that he had experience with children.  There was initial hesitance, but Sam knew better than to be wary of Heartman at this point. If anything, Heartman was one of the people he trusted the most at the moment. Lockne and Deadman coming in for a close second, and then Fragile. Die-Hardman was in a strange place on that list that he'd rather not think about.

Lifting Lou gently, he placed her in the other's arms. The motion triggered a memory. Him handing Louise to Lucy, whose eyes were tired as ever. She woke from her nightmares in the middle of the night and volunteered to continue watching  their daughter claiming to be unable to fall back asleep . Staying awake meant staving off the terrors that laid in wait for her to succumb to such a base need. Sam had lived with it his whole life but she, he had been afraid, would never grow accustomed to the visions. While his face read something more hardened, his eyes were soft. Pools of something once unattainable. 

"I disconnected all the computers connected to the network— the ones that could be used to monitor us anyways. For the time being you can stay here, there are a few ideas I have for more solitary quarters that I want to explore in the meantime." His attention was immediately diverted to the baby who took to being held by him very quickly. Heartman bounced her in his lap and wrapped an arm around her back to support her head. 

"Ohhh Lou." He cooed. She was  _ adorable _ . The last time Heartman held a kid, it was his own. A flash of melancholy passed through him but to his surprise didn't stick. It settled in his stomach as an almost negligible ache that bloomed into a warm instant fondness for Lou. Oh, he knew why Sam had gotten so attached now.

Sam rose from his seat without a word.  His shoulders ached and the skin around his abdomen tingled. All the more reason for him to take advantage of Heartman's offer to use the shower. Heartman went about picking at the equipment Sam brought for Lou with his free hand.

"I'm uncle Heartman. You see, I have a genetic condition called myocardial cordiformia..." Heartman went on from there, talking just to fill the air more than he expected a baby to understand what he was saying.

Sam tried to wash his lingering thoughts down the drain. 

There was little to worry about leaving Lou with Heartman, so that barely preoccupied his mind. Guilt nibbled at his core, and while it used to consume him, it was nothing more than a pest at that point rather than a monster. Still, a pest was enough to piss off anyone plagued by it.

Sam looked down at his abdomen to find the pale hand prints stained onto his skin from where Heartman pressed tightly into him. He ran a hand over them where fainter marks also sat. The bunched up jacket that had been between them kept from blooming into a bright red rash but it was still enough for him to cause discomfort. The hot water running down his body did well to take his mind off of the physical sensation.

Lucy used to look at all the marks he had and ask him if he remembered how he got each one. She had been his  _ therapist _ , so her questions were always rather meaningful in one way or another. And while she hadn't succeeded in curing him, she proved to him that getting close to at least  _ one _ person wasn't impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out it’s going to be a lot of slice of life styled chapters intermingled with stuff that can loosely be called relevant to the “plot”. All of this is very go-with-the-flow and introduces a lot of personal headcanons with these characters! Mostly, it explores how, while they both share some similarities in hardships, they are extremely different people through and through (though Sam is very different from most of the other characters in general).


	5. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Heartman prepare for their first day as… roommates? They have a conversation over dinner. Heartman has concerns with the arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting this chapter together was really hard! Everytime the characters talk about anything related to the game plot, I’m the Charlie Day w/ Pepe Silvia meme trying to put together the timeline in my head. And trying to figure out who knows what when? Absolute nightmare. Not to fret, though, rereading this makes me fall in love with the both of them all over again, so it’s worth it.

With music playing, Heartman tidied up for the first time in months. The study looked less like a hoarder's den by the minute.  Lou cooed in her crib, watching the whale skeleton suspended from the ceiling like a far-too-large mobile.

Freshly out of the shower after a long soak, Sam took in the room again . The lack of clutter made it feel a lot more like the room Sam saw on his first ever visit.  He crossed over to the couch and sat on the arm to peer into the crib.  She squealed and kicked her legs as Sam lowered a hand in to tickle at her stomach.  Lou wasn’t exactly high maintenance— definitely not as much as Louise had been. Sam thought she would have cried upon  his brief absence , but she continued to exceed expectations.

"Lou's very patient. She seems to be taking an interest in my field of study as well." Heartman laughed as he replaced a book from his arms into its proper spot on the shelves.  “I—” The scientist stuttered to a surprised stop as he swung around to actually face Sam only to be greeted by a very shirtless porter.

The markings caught Heartman’s attention most immediately. A result of the aphenphosmphobia, no surprise. Each mark an indicator of where he'd been touched too roughly  by the dead. The ones on the arms were familiar since Sam often  strutted around in sleeveless shirts. Heartman recognized the mark around his abdomen which was still fresh looking, sparking a little guilt.  Touch by the living breathing sort apparently left nasty rashes. When his gaze turned to the prints over his chest though, he couldn't help the smile that cracked over his face.

With a tank top scrunched up in his hand, Sam could feel the eyes on him but couldn’t find enough in him to care. His eyes flickered up to catch the smile. Before Sam could bring the question up in his head, Heartman was opening his mouth to speak again.

"err—" Heartman shook his head, "Sam, I have an extra room for you. There's nothing in it  _ right now _ , but I won't force you to sleep on the couch for your stay here.

Heartman stared firmly at the padded floor as he hastily shuffled to the door that led further into his dwelling. He stopped at the threshold and gestured inwards with an arm towards the only room he hadn’t shown Sam. Sam followed half-way only to get a look. With an affirmative grunt , Sam returned to his spot on the couch.

“How’re you gonna work? Thought you needed the computers.” Sam pulled the tank over his torso and smoothed out the tight fabric.  Heartman’s attention fell on Sam again while his head was caught in the tangle of the shirt before it was pulled back over his bare skin. He shouldn't have been surprised how fit Sam looked, but he still found it impressive.

"Well. I  _ do _ need computers to do work. The chiral network was a  _ massive  _ help. It allowed me to get in contact with other scientists and access a multitude of academic materials both pre and post stranding.  No network doesn’t mean no computers. I got along well enough without the network before. " Heartman went to his desk to sit this time and drummed on his desk with his fingers, "It does present a challenge, though. I could go… analog, so to speak. There are devices out there that still connect exclusively to the old network which I was working with before you came along."

The papers strewn over the surface in front of Heartman looked daunting. When was the last time he’d done any real work? Bridges had been lenient given he was in good rapport with many of its members, particularly Die-Hardman. But, he also had more than enough wiggle room given he was the  _ only _ beach scientist. Heartman gave a low groan before looking back up to Sam.

"Your safety and comfort are my number one priority. But that is an interesting question— what will  _ you _ do now?"

Sam shrugged.

"Port." Nothing was really different. At least now he had somewhere to keep Lou while he was out. While Sam never minded bringing Lou out with him on every job for fresh air, she didn't need to go on every mission. Especially when he had heavy cargo and needed to use his chest space for more packages.

“You’re going to keep porting?” 

"You had something in mind?" Sam asked with a raise of his brow. He was still a freelance porter and couldn't envision that changing. He wasn’t as smart or well-informed as Heartman was, nor could he keep focused enough on anything that wasn’t tactile or physical in some way. Staying inside for the rest of his life would probably kill him. Porting was his only alternative.

“Well.” Sam didn’t  _ need  _ to change profession but Heartman was sure Sam knew that too. It would be a personal choice, one that Heartman frankly wasn’t surprised about. “No I suppose I don’t. How long will you be staying put before going back to porting?”

"Heading out tomorrow morning." Delivering goods at night wasn't unfamiliar, but he wasn't sure how it'd work out in the snow. He'd rather not slip and eat shit on ice just because it was too dark or just too damn cold.

"Tomorrow? That's no time at all. Are you sure?”

Sam gave a nod.  "D'you need something?" That would serve convenient for Heartman, he mused. Having a porter bring things in for him immediately rather than placing an order.  Better than premium delivery.

“There’s no Bridges to run you ragged. And you have a reliable place to stay. You could sleep in. —  _ But _ if you're going out anyways, I know I am powerless to stop you. I will get in contact with Lockne. Go to Mountain Knot City when you have time and talk to her directly for furniture and supplies for Lou. That way the items can't be traced back here after being picked up."

Another nod. Mountain Knot City. He’d keep it in mind. In a way, it felt like he was being given another all important mission.

*******

Heartman spun in circles in the kitchen trying to decide what was appropriate for his guest. As Heartman sifted through his pantry and cupboards to assess what he had, he very quickly realized he never cooked himself anything extravagant. 

It wasn't that he didn't know how to, he was the one typically responsible for dinner once upon a time. But that was years ago. More recently he had been expanding his culinary repertoire now that cities and preppers could share over the network. Mostly, he just hadn't bothered. There was never a reason to, if he had a disappointing meal then that was that and he could move on to his research. 

What was easy?

Stew? Stew was easy.

Sam, left alone with Lou, stood there stiffly. Now what? He sat by Lou’s crib and poked his head over the top. She gave a toothless grin just at the sight of him. Sam already changed her diaper and wasted enough time wiggling his fingers at her to keep her occupied. Really, it was more accurate to say that she was the one keeping him occupied.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Heartman yelled, unsure if Sam could hear him from the other room.

"Anything's good," Sam shouted back.

Probably water— he should have said that.

"Water!" Sam amended. All he had been drinking as of late was beer and energy drinks. His diet hadn't exactly been the most diverse.

Heartman went about pulling a glass out of one of the cupboards. He practically crashed into Sam as he turned around to deliver the drink to Sam. 

"Ha— uh. For you."  A hand went to his chest while the other held out the cup.

Sam responded with a quick look over rather than words.  Heartman had taken off his jacket, now just in a collared button-up with the first few buttons undone. More formal than just a robe, but it still somehow looked like he was dressing down.

He took the glass, taking a couple gulps while he idled.

“Right…” Heartman turned around to get back to dinner while Sam did all but twiddle his thumbs.

Sam tapped a finger against the glass, trying to think of something to say or do but…  God, he had to do  _ something _ . He couldn’t live with just sitting around inside all day. Porting would at least let him feel like he was contributing something to the living situation. He wasn’t going to live there and not give anything in return, that just seemed like a shitty thing to do. Sam wouldn’t be comfortable if he just let himself be taken care of.  But porting was for  _ tomorrow. _ He had already resolved to wait out the night. There had to be something he could do now.

Did Heartman need help? Cooking took more than 21 minutes at a time.  What if Heartman went out and started a fire, or he had a knife in his hand?  Sam glanced around to try to gauge how much he was needed but after concluding nothing with his cursory observation, he was forced to ask instead.

"I could help."

"O-oh. Always the busy body, hm?”  Heartman, despite being overly aware of Sam’s hovering, was still grateful for the company. “I can't judge you. I've always got my nose in my own business. I suppose we can divvy up the work- it's been a while since I've cooked for more than myself but I'm finding that sentiment to be shockingly common with you around."

Sam tilted his head.

Heartman gestured to a cutting board. "You could chop the vegetables?"

That sounded easy enough. Taking the knife, Sam got to work. 

He chopped some carrots and diced an onion. Everything was either preserved or frozen, fresh food was hard to come by unless you lived next to the source. Sam found himself antagonizing over the right way to do his appointed portion of dinner preparation. Having never cooked properly, he wasn’t sure how things should have been done. Asking wasn’t something that occurred to him.

If Sam was going to be preoccupied with helping him, then Heartman figured he might as well put music on.  Heartman excused himself for a moment to move into the study  then flipped through his vinyls for something classic but tasteful. The notes hung in the air and carried brilliantly through the home. 

The music was nice, Sam thought. Once he had gotten a couple sections of it down, he gave soft whistles along with the more recognizable chorus of each song.

Heartman rushed back into the Kitchen to begin measuring out everything that didn't need to be cut up and put meat on to sear. The table was cleared, dishware set out and amongst the controlled chaos of him and his sous chef, he even found himself time to pour some wine.

Heartman gave Sam a quick thumbs up at his progress and managed to stop himself from decimating his touch-repulsed guest with a compulsory pat on the back. It all took more than 21 minutes, but with Sam there he had the luxury of simply instructing him to not to let the food burn while he went down for the other three. When the food was done, Heartman insisted he serve it, making sure to check on Lou without prompting before they sat down to dinner.

It had been much too long since Sam had been actively participating in kitchen-related activities too, he realized.

Sam had refilled his cup of water several times, filling it one last time as he sat stiffly at the table and taking a moment just to look over the entire set up. Dinner. With real food, on a table. With another person. 

It was so strange, but all he could do was  _ try _ to feel comfortable about it. He had no idea if he looked comfortable, though. It was rare Sam looked comfortable in his own skin, they had both been isolated from society and the effects were noticeable to anyone that wasn’t them.

Heartman certainly didn't notice the hesitancy. 

The steam was still rising threateningly off the surface of the stew as Sam brought a spoonful to his mouth. It burned his tongue and warmed his throat on the way down. Like with the coffee, Sam usually didn't have time to care about whether or not something was hot.

Still, the silence (accompanied by the faint music filling the air) facilitated his thinking, and that man's face— Cliff’s face— came back in his mind. Heartman still didn't know about it. No one did except for him.

"I, uh," he started, mouth half-full before he swallowed. "Figured out the deal with Cliff."

Heartman's interest was grabbed as soon as he heard 'Cliff'.

"You figured out why you've been having those visions?" He called them memories last time, but that was a theory. "If I recall, there was nothing remarkable about him that could be found in his files. Correct?" If there was any development on that front in Bridges, no one had told him. The most he'd heard was when he checked his emails which hadn’t been recently at all. More conspiracy from Deadman — he wondered why he worked for Bridges if he were so suspicious of the director. Heartman wasn't exactly at the center of all that, everything he heard about was second hand and mostly he had assumed Cliff was sent by Higgs (Up until Higgs was taken out of the picture). He was used to not getting answers to these sorts of questions at Bridges.

“Mhm,” he answered. The files were all gone because Bridges had  _ wanted _ them gone. Sam ate for a moment more, trying to figure out how to word everything. He had felt only confusion towards Cliff when they had first (violently) interacted. It was antagonism. Protecting Lou from Cliff. Then it was a flash of sympathy, someone trying to desperately possess a BB— but why? And when he shot Cliff down for the last time? More confusion.

Now he knew. And while it answered his questions, some part of him wondered if it had been worth it to know.

“They’re mine. My memories. Saw ‘em when I hooked up to Lou the last time before I left.” Before he left the capital to burn his cufflinks and break Lou out of her glass prison. “Cliff was my father. I was the first Bridge Baby.” It was why Cliff stopped pursuing him when he realized Lou wasn’t his own.

Sam had to take  a break despite having said relatively so little . Taking a sip of water, he pushed down the emotion that began to bubble up in the core of his chest. Typically if Sam talked at all, he asked questions. Heartman rarely got answers unless asked directly and even then getting a response at all was rare. So Heartman leaned in when Sam made the decision to tell him about Cliff. 

Heartman squinted, it was his turn to look confused for once. "Clifford Unger, the man you claimed was after your BB-  _ violently so _ \- is your father?" That was a rhetorical question, he was trying to fit the few pieces he had together in his head.

“Bridget, your adoptive mother, started the BB initiative. If you were a bridge baby then it stands to reason that experiment failed… And with your mother’s role in starting the experiments anew— _supposedly_ because Homo Demens used stolen BB research to create their own according to Bridges, though we both know that wasn’t quite true. Ah, I can see why Deadman has been so fanatical now.” 

“Amelie and Bridget were the same person. She just came up with the whole thing to hide it. Die-Hardman was her right-hand man through and through. But he and Cliff knew each other, old war buddies." There was a gruff frustration in the tone of his voice as he continued eating, shaking his head. 

"Name's John McClane. He was the one that helped Cliff try to break me out. Cliff didn't know what he was getting himself into, thought he was saving my mom and me." Once Cliff had put him into the BB program, there had been no escaping from there. They had both been doomed from the start. "Bridget was lying to him and Die-Hardman tipped Cliff off, so he tried to take me and run. But Bridget stopped him before he could get away. She killed the both of us, but she brought me back on the Beach. She's the reason I can repatriate." The scar on his stomach tingled with the mention of it. 

"She left Cliff there at the Beach. Bridget raised me after that and I never could have known."

When he finished, Sam realized how stiff the air had gotten.  Nothing to it that was eloquent in any way, not like Heartman would have gone about it. He had been concise with his words, but even through his typical brevity there was a heaviness that betrayed the composure he was trying to front. Sam hadn’t confronted his feelings on this in any real capacity since he learned the truth — the  _ real _ truth that not even Amelie had confessed to right before condemning herself to the beach. He didn’t want to confront them here either.

"Sam." Heartman hesitated to continue from there.  Sam could tell here was a lot of thinking going on behind those eyes, and he couldn’t blame him. It was convoluted and just plain stupid.

Heartman reached across the table, placing his hand palm down in front of Sam. Not grabbing him, just letting him know he was there. Immediately, his gaze darted to the extended hand.  Reflex pulled at his muscles, telling him to scoot backwards. However, he stayed in place when Heartman’s reach stopped before it could become uncomfortable. 

"I'm sorry, no one should have to learn that this way. Bridget was wrong for keeping this a secret from you."

Sam just shook his head. He didn’t need the pity nor the apology— not like Heartman could have done anything about it.

Heartman tilted his head as Sam shook his. Perhaps he mistook his empathy for something else, perhaps he just wasn't ready for that.

“Mm,” he sounded, crossing his arms on the table as he leaned against it. “I don’t know how to feel about it. Cliff didn’t deserve it.”

Sam wondered how different it would have been to grow up with Cliff as his father. Detached from Bridges altogether. But it was pointless to think about it in the context of the now. And Amelie, how should he feel about her?  Every pleasant memory of her was tainted with the betrayal— All that lying. His mind ran in circles both justifying and vilifying her. What was worse was that he couldn’t  _ do _ anything about any of it besides produce a never ending supply of headaches.  Logically, he should hate her but instead, it was just a churning mess of uncertainty.

"It must have been painful for him. As fathers, we can both relate to losing a child." And a wife. He spoke with a softness, the same sort he had when he was recounting his own tale the first time he met Sam in person.

Yeah. It was almost coincidental how similar their situations were. Two fathers that lost their families. Maybe it was the best thing that he was there now with Heartman rather than anyone else. If there was anyone who understood the most, it was probably him. For that, there was a spark of gratefulness that started to bloom somewhere in his chest. 

Sam scoffed. “And to think I would still be in one of those pickle jars if he hadn’t broken me out.”

"I prefer you uh... not pickled. And I'm sure Lou would agree." Heartman added soon after, trying to keep the conversation lighter, not because it made him uncomfortable but because he didn't want to let Sam sink back into the back of his mind where he would sit quietly without speaking up.

"Thanks," Sam said roughly, his voice rigid and awkward. For nothing in particular— for everything in general. He gave a sniffle, trying to fill the heavy silence that fell right after his word of acknowledgement.

A ghost of a smile crossed Sam’s lips briefly at the comment before it disappeared.  Heartman almost missed it.

Finishing off the stew, Sam wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with a sigh. Aside from the topic at the table, it was the best dinner he had had in years. Moving the spoon to the center of the bowl, he scooted in his seat a bit and cleared his throat.

"I'll wash this," he said as he picked the bowl and cup up, walking back into the kitchen.

"If you're sure. Thank you." Is all Heartman said with a warm expression as his eyes traced the porter's short path back to the sink. 

In the kitchen, Sam scrubbed at the dishes by hand. It felt weird to be back at this, to be in a house instead of a private room. Heartman wasn’t taking all of his body fluids and turning them into grenades, Sam didn’t have a needle stuck in his elbow to continuously draw blood up into a firearm. He wasn’t holding his breath, sneaking around BT's with kilos of cargo on his back.

He was washing the dishes and taking care of a baby.

*******

One eye was kept on the time while he dug through desk drawers for a laptop. Older tech, but not that old, that could connect to the old network.  The computer he normally used for work was integrated fully with the network after Sam arrived with the Q-pid. It wasn’t a switch that could just be turned on and off like connecting to a wifi hotspot. It would require intimate knowledge of programming and the Q-pid software to undo it. Lockne could do it— but that was a lot to ask for Sam’s paranoia. 

There was an obvious hesitancy in turning the thing on. Heartman had effectively disappeared while he went on his personal quest. It took a few minutes of staring before a quick glance at the time motivated him  to hurry up and log into his accounts. Dozens upon dozens of emails poured in, a few from  the new president himself.

The most recent one caught his eye. Concerning Sam and addressed to him. The fact that it was preceded with an email from Deadman made him worried. Luckily, the one from Die-Hardman was only a request to keep an eye out for the rogue porter. It also mentioned that should Sam visit, Heartman should convince him to come back to Bridges.  Deadman mirrored Die-hardman’s concern but from the opposite lens with a word of caution to exercise a healthy amount of skepticism towards the president.

Heartman knew full well the director's— the  _ president's _ brand of leadership from working closely with him in past years. There wouldn't be any violent repercussions. It was his formal way to show concern, but there was always the matter of the BB, Lou. That was something entirely different. Heartman made a face of discontent reading it before deleting both emails.


	6. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wind down the evening with a movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with some dorks being dorks. Some warning: this chapter contains mentions of The Notebook (2004), a little spoilery if you haven’t seen the movie. There’s also a lot of talk about their past relationships (Lucy + Heartman’s Wife).
> 
> I also apologize for the slow updates but I hope the long breaks between chapters aren't too much a problem… I know that there isn’t much in the way of this ship, though, so I’m determined to keep on.

Most of what Heartman had gathered were films he thought Sam would like. Of course, he had no idea what Sam liked and had to go off educated guesses. Really, he could hardly imagine Sam sitting down to relax if he hadn't seen it for himself.

“I’ve been meaning to show you some of these. You like films, right? I didn’t get the chance last time before we were called down to the capital” Mention of Capital Knot reminded him of his cufflink. It made him nervous, the thought of putting it back on. It had been a few weeks since he started his quest to search for Sam and though Die-Hardman hadn’t mentioned it in any of his emails, he was sure it would come up eventually. He shook the thought out of his head. “I also have shows, box sets, episodes about 21 minutes each.” Heartman pulled a few things from the shelf and off of lingering piles before moving back over to Sam.

“Got a favorite?” Sam glanced over, looking at the ones in Heartman’s hands. None of the titles were recognizable— not that he was surprised. He doubted he had ever seen anything Heartman decided to show him. The last time Sam had seen a movie had been years ago when he still _lived_ somewhere with a family.

"Favorite." Heartman pursed his lips, "I do have a movie- not under 21 minutes but worth the cycles for me. I'm not sure you would— It's very..." Romantic. Sam didn’t exactly fall into the target audience of a genre that was, statistically speaking, composed mostly of older women. Still, Heartman set the ones he'd picked up aside to pull the feature length film off the shelf.

"It's post-stranding, the two protagonists fall in love but one moves to another knot city which poses a challenge, as you might imagine, for a budding relationship." Heartman looked over the front before flipping the box around. A simple white font in all caps read _'Love Stranding'_ across the top with two vignetted figures over a picturesque landscape dominating the cover.

"Didn't know they still made shit after the Death Stranding," Sam mused aloud as he scanned the box art. Judging by the description and the cover it wasn't hard to deduce the genre and by extension the plot.

"It certainly became a lot harder to keep producing media but not impossible. If anything, post-stranding, the industry became a bit narrower with smaller communities of very dedicated filmographers. Pre-stranding movies had a lot more to work with as far as props, sets and filming locations, making newer movies and shows very limited in capabilities when drawing comparisons. Without BTs and Timefall, I’m confident that will change relatively soon. Something to look forward to.”

Sam didn't comment on _Love Stranding_ or the info dump, but his gaze was still inquisitive. Soft enough to help facilitate his display of vague engagement. While Sam had never been interested in romance, it definitely wasn't unsavory. He used to watch them sometimes with Lucy, and the atmosphere the movies created were always welcome. The porter rose from his seat and shuffled over to the shelves to comb over the titles. His head shifted slightly to the side to read the tilted words. 

"You seem like a documentary kind of guy. You watch any these days?" Sam ran a finger over the wood in front of the cases, drawing a line in the accumulated dust.

Heartman laughed and pushed up his glasses. Of course he looked like the type to enjoy documentaries. He remembered his own wife remarking on his strange tastes in entertainment as well. "If they're well researched and not sensationalized then they can be enjoyable! I don't have any hard copies, they're a bit redundant after the first viewing. What about you, Sam? I'd take you for an action movie man, having been in the action yourself."

"Yeah," Sam responded, looking away from the shelf to look back at Heartman. "Just like how fast they are." It wasn't often that people asked _him_ about what he was interested in. This was weird. Usually things like that were reserved for conversations with himself. When was the last time he talked to anyone else about what he liked? Too long ago, maybe.

Heartman took over Sam's now abandoned spot on the couch to entertain Lou by dangling a hand into the crib while the other looked through what was available. With pure interest, she brought her small hands up to grasp at Heartman's, trying to pull it down closer to her body.

"You heard of Ride?”

“Ah, I may have.” He thought he heard the porter mention something about it once or twice over the cufflinks, but he refrained from sharing that.

“I like the show a lot. It's really cool, the bikes on there are awesome. Badass." The inflection in his voice, for once, raised slightly over his usual stagnantly low tone. Eagerness could be heard in his voice. "Learn a lot about what bikers used to do before the stranding. Used to travel in groups and shit. Seems cool."

"Oh?" When Sam told him about the show then _kept_ telling him about the show, Heartman's face lit up with a gentle smile. The show was cool, awesome _and_ badass according to Sam. That would explain why he chose to use a bike for porting so often.

Sam nodded, though his eyes were more fixated now on the hand that dangled into Lou’s crib. He took a few steps closer to chuckle at the way she tugged at Heartman’s fingers. Her large eyes fixated on him, deep and curious.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so enraptured by something. Nice to loosen up now and again isn't it? Perhaps I can put an order in for a copy so that we can watch. I'm always interested in observing relics of the past. Sounds like something quite unlike what I keep here.— You'll probably find my collection lacking in regards to your tastes."

Loosen up? Sam didn't really think of himself as tense. Just keeping to himself and minding his business. He gave a couple neutral nods, looking back to the shelf. "I'll watch anything," he answered, voice returning to its usual grumble. "I haven't watched anything in a while." 

Heartman’s hum of acknowledgement was accompanied with his own nod. Come to think of it, it'd been a while since he watched anything too. So much thinking and self-reflecting and worrying had left him little time for his typical hobbies.

"My wife used to put on romance a lot. Lots of pre-stranding stuff." Sam added. He could never remember the titles of anything, unfortunately.

"Mm, my wife liked the pre-stranding movies too. A lot of tv shows and long nights of binging. Though, I was always more the romantic than she was." Heartman pried his finger from Lou who gave a gurgle in protest. He found, with Sam around, he thought of Charlotte with a melancholy fondness rather than the cold yearning he’d felt before.

A moment of silent reflection passed between the two, each of them thinking the same thing without realizing it.

"You’ll watch anything, you said?" Heartman got up once more to stand beside Sam as he gestured over to a lower shelf, "These are the longer ones, if you'd like some classics. I uh, never thought I'd share them with anyone so they are very singular in interest. _Oh!_ This."

Heartman pulled a case off the shelf labeled _'The Notebook'_. Sam skirted his eyes over the cover, trying to dig through his memory in the off chance that he could recognize it by what he was seeing now. Not much. The title seemed vaguely familiar. He wouldn't have been surprised if he started to recognize it when it started rolling.

"This is what most would consider a true classic in romance. Not _the best_ but let's face it, the classics are rarely aspirational." Heartman was already going about setting up the screen before Sam could nod in agreement with the selection.

The wall of windows dimmed and blacked out while Heartman inserted the disk into the hardware (Which was physically built into a panel on an adjacent wall). No chrial network meant no streaming, but hard copies still worked, lucky for them. The neon colored lights lining the very tops of the wall illuminated in the same way they did when Heartman went under. Except he wasn’t, they were just going to watch a movie.

Huh.

Watch a movie. He was going to watch a _movie_ with Heartman. Before, there had been too much urgency to do anything like this. Usually, Sam would have been out taking orders about now. Instead, he was inside about to watch a movie with a... friend? Would he consider Heartman that? If they were about to do _this_ , then they definitely weren't just colleagues. That, and he was technically living with him as well.

"You should, uh," Sam started then stalled. His mind was still on the previous thought. He began again, "I can wait. Until you start another full round of 21. It'd probably hit better that way."

"Hm?" Heartman looked up from what he was doing as Sam warned him. His eyes darted to the hourglass which wasn't set, then to his wrist to inspect the time. "Thank you for the warning, I nearly lost track." Heartman gave a wink and a thumbs up. Sam nearly looked at his own wrist with the gesture, though he quickly recalled that he had burned his cufflink ages ago and that he wouldn’t be awarded any likes. A little disappointing. 

***

They sat on the same couch, Heartman giving a generous buffer between them for Sam’s comfort. Heartman had also muted the AED so that Sam could enjoy the movie uninterrupted at the very least. The movie began with the soft piano and gradual appearance of the actors’ names. Sam couldn’t recognize anything. The red and black evening of the displayed riverside didn’t ring any bells; he must have not seen it before, then. Maybe one of the movies Lucy had planned to watch with him. 

“You seen it before?” Sam asked not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he was hoping Heartman would elaborate on it. _Was it going to be sad?_ Romantic movies always had to put in some kind of tearjerker and that was the worst part about them in Sam’s opinion. Lucy had always said that was the point of them, it wouldn’t be the same without it, to which Sam couldn’t think of an argument for.

"Plenty but none too recently. I'm guessing you haven't? It's— well, I'll let you see for yourself." 

Heartman remembered crying the first time he watched this, and the second and third time as well. Lucky for him, he was conditioned from repeat watchings that he wouldn't have to shed any sorrowful tears in front of his guest. The movie was obviously dated, but there were many parts that he found relatable. Being relatable, Heartman thought, was the appeal of these movies. Relatability and Idealism. 

He also thought it funny how he and his wife related to the characters. She had always told him that in this scenario, he was Allie. Routine, meticulous, always thinking but also dominated by his feelings (not to mention his inclination for art). She was Noah, of course. Happy go-lucky, adventurous and stubborn. It wasn’t a one for one correlation and they both knew the characters were meant for projecting onto. 

Heartman glanced over at the other occasionally, trying to get a sense if Sam was enjoying it or not. The porter was hard to read as ever, but he thought he recognized the glint of pure focus in his eye. 

At the climactic ending, as Noah and Allie lay together on the bed, Sam leaned back into the couch as if to move farther away from the screen. He wiped the meat of his palms over his eyes preemptively. The twist he had guessed (it was pretty obvious, to be fair) early on and thought that would grant him some sort of immunity to whatever would be thrown at him. He should have known better.

 _Had it been two hours already?_ Sam thought when the credits rolled across the screen.

Heartman turned to say something about the ending, jaw opening then shutting when he noticed Sam wiping at his eyes. There were a few moments more while he let the ending play out in its entirety before he turned a bit more fully in his seat to throw an arm over the back out the couch.

"It's sweet isn't it?” With anyone else, Heartman might've given a comforting pat on the arm or have scooted closer to bump shoulders. Instead he settled with extending his arm around the back of the sofa further. 

_Sweet?_ _They died._ Was Sam’s immediate thought. He could picture Heartman’s long-winded response to that though and thought he wouldn’t make it through a recap _and_ an explanation. “Mhm,” he grunted instead, getting up from the couch to stretch. Usually after something like this, he and Lucy would get close and enjoy each other's company while they had it. Maybe let some other things ensue. Of course, this was entirely different. Regardless, his skin prickled with the lingering ghost of a memory.

“If I had a choice, that would be my ideal way to go." 

Hearing that was almost as sad as the end of the damn movie. It was strange that it was never something that crossed his mind— it was definitely something Heartman thought about a whole lot. Sam had never worried about dying, considering that he was a repatriate. Repatriating didn’t exclude the pain of dying, but that still didn’t bring enough fear into him to avoid certain situations. When the Last Stranding came, he had expected to die there. Let what remained of his consciousness melt away on the beach. But he supposed that was different. He had made the conscious choice to accept true death if it came, knowing there would be no repatriating. Heartman was an enigma compared to all that. Sam remembered something Heartman had said to him during one of their meetings, that after he found his family, he would pass into the seam with them. Both vague attempts to control their fate maybe. And now look at them.

The porter tried to hide his sniffles with a deep breath. It was just some movie from forever ago— _it wasn’t even about death._

“It was nice.” Sam said after a long, thoughtful pause then turned his head away towards the crib and Lou (who was fast asleep). He coughed to cover a croak. “Sweet.”

"I'm glad you liked it. There are plenty of other options for other times as well." A sly smirk cracked across his face at Sam's attempts to hide his tears. He'd already seen them though and they definitely weren't a chiral allergy. 

***

The more he thought about it, the more Sam felt that it wouldn't have been that hard to put some sort of padding atop the metal beds in the private rooms he had stayed in. It was getting late and when he finally decided it was time for bed, Heartman wrapped up his work and headed upstairs. Sam insisted it was fine, if Heartman wanted to keep working, but the scientist’s will was a finely honed weapon when it needed to be.

It wasn't long before Sam turned in for the night, immediately passing out on the soft cushions after he had made sure Lou was taken care of. 

Hours later, faint noises of movement started to rouse him from his sleep. He could have sworn he heard Lou's crying invade his dream, but it hadn't been long enough to interrupt him. Groggy, Sam pushed himself up from his position on his back. He squinted in the darkness, trying to make out whatever was going on.

What little light there was reflected off the snow through the great window. Harshly rubbing his blurry eyes with the palm of his hand, he finally made out the shape of Heartman standing by Lou's crib. The single point of light emitting off of the AED shone like a single star in inky space. Tired, he half expected Lucy to have been standing there, but Sam knew better.

"Shh-shh, Lou." Heartman muttered, rocking the child in his arms.

Running his hand through his hair, Sam continued to watch as he fed a now hushed and satisfied Lou. He hadn't expected to get help from Heartman in caring for her. While Sam certainly didn't need it, it was much appreciated in situations like these where Sam was less than willing to get off of the couch. His brows rose slightly as he finally let the sight settle, giving a quiet chuckle before he lied back down to resettle in his sleep.

For Heartman, the motions were muscle memory: waking up late at night, getting a bottle ready and being as quiet as possible while doing it so as to not wake his wife— _Sam_ , in this case. The ruffling of blankets in the night momentarily turned Heartman’s head. When his eyes focused, he saw Sam comfortably facing the opposite direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this /is/ a ship fic for Sam and Heartman despite all the mentions of their wives. They both lost their families though, so I think they have their own ways of coping w/ that and it’s an important part of who they are. It was one of the things Sam shared with Heartman (who doesn’t share like, anything about himself with others) so it stands to reason it’d be a bonding point for them.


	7. Lockne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam pays a visit to Lockne for supplies while Heartman watches over Lou.

Light reflected the blue hues of the morning sky off the shimmering surface of the snow and into every window. Heartman was already up. Afraid to wake his friend so immediately, he lingered in the kitchen with some fresh coffee and took the rest of the time to shower and get ready for the day. He only entered the study when he heard movement within, carrying with him a second cup.

The porter stood over Lou’s crib, already dressed in freelancer gray. Without nightmares to jostle him awake, he wasn't as alert in the mornings so it took him a moment to realize the coffee was meant for him. Sam gave a brief “Mornin’” and continued getting ready for his day, coffee in hand. Heartman went straight to his desk to begin setting up his workspace around the laptop he would be using in place of his old computer. Not exactly convenient but he had gone a decade without the network to work off of, he could do it again. 

After changing Lou’s diaper and double-checking his supplies, Sam knocked back the remainder of his drink like it was a shot. He had his gloves on and was just about to strap on Lou’s carrier when he realized Heartman would be home. Judging by what he saw last night, he didn't think that the man was going to be neglectful anytime soon... Sam, instead, offered a small wave of his hand to Lou, who laid in the crib trying to push herself up onto all fours. 

“Be good.”

Heartman adjusted his glasses at Sam’s instruction, the words “I will” on the tip of his tongue. Ah, he was talking to Lou. Of course. Lou hardly needed to be told, she was already the most well behaved infant he'd ever met. 

No goodbyes were exchanged and no offense was taken. Sam was a ghost, coming and going with the wind and only making his presence known by the tracks he occasionally left on Heartman’s clean floor.

Before long, Sam was out, sunglasses on and hood up, mounting his motorbike and driving off. He would make sure to stop by Mountain Knot to pick up the extra furniture.

***

Sam had done two deliveries that day. He would have done a third, but that required a pick up further east. Too near the capital for his comfort— even if there was an entire Lake separating them.

A pick up of scrap metal and three stacks of parchment paper, each holding a hundred sheets. Sam paid more attention to the weight than the contents of his cargo typically. He was actually looking for orders that contained fresh food- he’d delivered similar items in the area before and wanted to ask where he could get them. A form of repayment to Heartman for dinner, he reasoned. Multiple responses from other porters came quickly, and while several areas had been noted, the closest and most convenient was somewhere past Mountain Knot. He would have to go there today regardless which made it all the more convenient.

Stepping down the distribution center ramp was both familiar and foreign. To better hide his identity, Sam had taken to wearing a scarf and mask. The scarf (a deep gray to match the freelancer colors) was mostly tucked into his suit and helped to hide the shape of his face while the navy blue mask did most of the work (usually along with a pair of shades) in keeping him from being recognized. The large space, once empty, was bustling and Sam was thankful he wasn’t premature in pulling his mask down.

A loaded truck bearing Bridges’ logo passed by on his slow descent into the center proper. A dozen people milled about inside bearing both porting and delivery team uniforms all busy with an apparent influx of work. Generally, he tried to avoid going to the distribution centers, but even the ones he had been to in the last month hadn’t been so robust. Sam approached the terminal, intentionally facing his back to the small crowd.

The packages were whisked away and his freelancer ID showing his new alias appeared on the screen as it tracked cargo condition and a few other metrics. Excellent, as always. He expected a chiral projection to greet him that he would have to awkwardly speak with while trying to cover his voice. Instead the side door opened and Lockne poked her head out wearing a gentle smile.

“It’s better if we speak in here.” she called, waving Sam over. 

Sam wasted no time in following. He had never seen the inner workings of one of these centers beyond the private rooms. The hallway wasn’t very spacious, windows on either side allowed Sam to peek at the multitude of shelves stacked with a seemingly impossible number of cargo containers. Conveyer belts and automated machines sorted and packed them onto carts to, presumably, be more personally delivered to the residents of Mountain Knot. He tried to pick out the case he just delivered in the chaos but his attention was pulled away when he heard Lockne call his name.

“Sam.” She had taken a turn and was holding a sliding door open with an arm. 

He entered, eyes once again going everywhere except the person he was supposed to be speaking with. Given the name tag on the desk, he could guess this was something like her office. It didn’t look like the sort of office he was used to. Government bureaucracy had a certain feel to it. Overly formal, depersonalized, a splash of red white and/or blue, and the distinct smell of ink and paper. 

Lockne’s office reminded him more of Heartman’s study, though much less grandiose in presentation. Paintings depicting scenes of deep space with streaking comets decorated the sides of the room. The far wall had a shelf indented into it which Lockne had repurposed into a miniature greenhouse. Bright grow lights hung just over them, facilitating green tendrils to reach and thrive. A cascade of leaves spilled out of the planters, nearly touching the floor where there were even more plants. He'd never seen that sort of growth in wild plants. They always died as soon as they sprouted because of the timefall and the variety of grasses and mosses weren't nearly as vibrant.

Her desk was sleek in design (more of what Sam had expected) dotted with smaller pots that were home to succulents but also miniature models and diagrams of vehicles. One of them was the same model of bike he used.

“I’ve gotten into mechanical engineering.” Lockne must have caught him staring. “I’ve always been into it, technically.” She clarified.

Sam’s brows cinched together at the contradicting claims. After a moment he nodded. _Mama_ was the one interested in it. That would be hard to get used to.

“Where’s Lou?” Lockne tapped the panel next to the door and when it slid closed the magnetic locks clicked as well.

He hesitated, looking to Lockne’s cufflink with a healthy suspicion.

“It’s okay, you’re not being recorded. You can relax.” She lifted her wrist and tapped the cufflink, “This is Målingen’s, she’s the one who designed this iteration, she knows its tricks.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped with the assurance. “She’s with Heartman.”

“I was looking forward to seeing her again. Probably better not to have her with you.” She nodded in understanding, “I’ll have to make the trip up to see her sometime.” 

“Uh,” Sam started, shifting from foot to foot. He wasn’t one for small talk. There was a pile of boxes pushed against one wall of the office that he would have assumed were for him if it wasn’t being used as a second table. Sam tugged his mask down under his chin and hooked his shades on the collar of his hood. “Is that for me?” he pointed with his jaw.

“Oh. Yes. Everything Heartman asked for and a few extra things. Consider it a home-coming gift from me.” Lockne half-smiled, tucking a strand behind her ear as she began moving a pot and clipboard from the top of the waist-high stack. She paused as she set them down, one hand brushing over the stiff leaves of the relocated fern. “Sam. How have you been?”

“Alright.” He shrugged.

A raised brow, the look she gave him reminded him of Mama. “You’ve gone AWOL with a BB and were living in a cave for over a month.”

“What’s new.” Sam let out a breath that could have been a laugh had it not been for the tone. He decided not to argue the point of referring to Lou as a BB knowing Lockne was a prospective mother herself at one point.

That was apparently funny, given the smile that spread across her face more fully. “If anyone deserves some peace and quiet, then it’s you. You’ve more than earned it. _Not sure you’re going to get it if you’re staying with Heartman._ ”

Sam snorted. He pressed his lips together and turned his head away, feeling a little guilty for laughing at that. When he composed himself, he shook his head and began pulling the backpack off to prepare it for the cargo.

“Those packages don’t have tags, by the way. They’re logged in the system as delivered, so if you lose one, you won’t be able to track it down.” A beat, "You know, Sam, you wouldn't have to go through all that trouble if you came back. You wouldn't have to sneak around or hide your face and I wouldn't have to cook the books just so you have a place to sleep."

And there it was. "I _am_ back." Sam said dismissively. Sometimes he chose the most obviously obtuse words in an attempt to frustrate the opposition into dropping the subject. It only worked if they didn't know that was what he was doing. Or weren’t disgustingly persistent like all the core Bridges members seemed to be.

" _Back_ back _._ " She emphasized, "So that we can talk to you without having to send coded messages or pulling wires out of our wall."

"You talked to Heartman." He already knew that, but he had assumed it was just about the furniture.

"Yes—" 

"Then you know I already had this conversation with him."

"I know that he somehow convinced you to come this far." Lockne crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned on the desk. She was much more casual in comparison to Heartman. Less stiff, more natural. "He didn't ask me to say any of this. He actually asked me not to mention anything about it at all."

Sam took a second to examine her in an attempt to judge her truthfulness. He had no reason to believe she was lying. "Should have listened."

"Sam." There was an exasperation in her voice, but also one of amusement like his belligerence was an endearing trait of his. “You’re upset at the UCA, at Bridges, because of Amelie. She’s not here anymore. _And_ Mountain Knot is on the fringes of the UCA anyways. If you wanted to stay here— or with Heartman— we could work something out. We could talk to Die-hardman for you.” The politics were flexible, is what she was saying. But wasn’t that what got John and his father into trouble to begin with? What led to the mask John wore for so long, serving so loyally under the person who broke him.

The second and third cargo crates were smaller but still rather hefty. He could balance his load for peak efficiency in his sleep. Securing the straps over them was fluid, and without thought. He was thinking about it now, though. To avoid having to reason Die-Hardman’s actions and their consequences. Sin so deep that decades later, it’d passed on to the next generation and led to where he was now.

“Die-Hardman is just as guilty as her.” His eyes flicked up at Lockne. He knew that wasn’t entirely true, but his anger wasn’t very rational or objective. Besides, if he said it out loud enough, he might believe it. That would make everything a lot easier for him.

“Sorry.” 

The apology caught him off guard. It almost made him feel bad for being so passive aggressive. Almost. 

“Call me a broken record, but I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Was she reading off some checklist Heartman had sent her?

“I’m—”

“Alright.” She finished for him.

“Yeah.” Sam tapped his fingers against the last, smallest case. “I’m uh,” He clipped the box to his hip. “I hope you’re doing okay too.”

That was enough to ease the built up tension, he thought, given the reemerging grin. “I’m doing great, thanks to you.”

He began the process of putting the backpack on again and after some grunting he gestured to the veritable forest Lockne was cultivating in her office. "I didn't know you liked that sort of stuff."

"I'm more of a technician at heart. I _am_ a technician. I'm good with numbers and code— just about anything a computer can do. Plants are arguably the exact opposite, chaos ruled by nature. At least, that's what it looks like. It’s all calculated, from how tall they get, to the surface area of their leaves to how deep their roots grow.” She glanced down at one of the smaller plants on her desk. Was this Lockne or Mama, he wondered. He hadn’t seen anything like this at Mama’s lab, so it must have been Lockne.

“‘S pretty.” He said after a long silence. Sam didn’t have anything important to say, he had questions but none he was willing to ask. Besides, he wanted to get back to Lou before the sun went down. 

“That too.” She laughed then circled around her desk to rummage through one of the drawers. She held out a small metal prism, the end had a loop like a pendant or charm. Remarkably similar to the q-pid. “Since you’re sticking around, feel free to stop by anytime. This will get you through the door, no need to knock.” 

***

The subsequent time alone was spent catching up on work and taking care of Lou. Switching between his business and entertaining her was seamless for him. Most of the time was spent with her on his lap while he flipped through research papers. Heartman took to reading aloud when he noticed she seemed fascinated every time he spoke. Though the initial hour or so had been difficult (she cried when she realized Sam wasn’t coming back immediately), she calmed down significantly with enough distraction.

Heartman was settled into the couch, taking a break from his work, with Lou in his arms when he heard a noise from the front of the lab. Some random movie he'd picked out played on the screen that encompassed the back wall. The din of the film playing muffled the noises of Sam coming into the room. He was sure Sam would have put everything down and go for a shower or get back into more comfortable clothes. Instead, he felt a presence looming over him along with that inexplicable feeling of being watched.

Heartman craned his head around as Lou began squirming in his grasp, giggling and reaching uncoordinated arms out behind him. He didn't expect Sam to be _right there_ and couldn't help but jump. A hand went to his chest as he took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Sam. You scared me." He laughed it off, eyeing the bags and metal boxes packed onto Sam’s back. Heartman recognized the packaging of the furniture but he wasn't sure what the rest was. "It went well, I suspect? You came back with more than I expected."

Heartman stood, an idle hand waving the movie away. The windows lightened, casting the room in gentle pinks and oranges. With a short nod and huff, Sam squinted when the darkness dissipated and the lights from outside filtered in.

"Looks like Lou misses you. We watched a movie and she helped me do some research. Very well behaved, if not a little handsy with the wires on my defibrillator." Lou was leaning out towards Sam in Heartman’s arm. He waited for Sam to put everything down before handing her off.

"Someone's happy," he commented as she laughed and smacked a palm against his chest. She buzzed her lips together, toes curling as Sam tickled her stomach with a finger. After a short hello, Sam leaned back down to pick up one of the smaller cargo bins, this one with a handle and bearing labels declaring it perishable. "I picked up groceries. Whatever I could get."

“Oh. Thank you, Sam. That was very thoughtful of you.” Heartman blinked.

Sam nudged the furniture with a boot, which he figured he _should_ have taken off at the front. "Where do you want me to put all this?"

The cargo looked like a lot less when it was on Sam. Seeing the pile stack up as he unloaded had Heartman raising his eyebrows in disbelief. This was why people said he was the best at what he did. Heartman circled around the couch to inspect it. Perfect condition, too. Time fall wasn't an issue anymore but living up on the mountains he was used to cargo having had a bit of a fall or two before reaching him.

“Uh, groceries in the kitchen, the furniture can go in the room you will be staying in. I won't force you to stay on the couch for any longer than you need to." Heartman reached down to grab one of the boxes but, finding it was _far_ heavier than it looked, he cleared his throat and instead led the way.

Sam placed a kiss atop Lou’s head then lowered her back down into the crib. Dutifully pretending he hadn’t seen Heartman try to lift a 40 kg package.

***

They were in the hallway on the left hand side just before the stairs. Sam recognized this as the room that Heartman had skipped in his initial tour. Inside was completely empty. The air was musty and a layer of dust had collected on the window sills. This room was also free of padded flooring. No need to pad the floors if you never went inside.

"You sure?" Sam asked to confirm, looking around again.

Heartman spun in the center of the empty room, facing Sam properly now. “Certainly! It's only ever been me here— I did consider turning it into a guest room but I never have visitors." He tapped the tips of his fingers together, pausing as if he expected a response but Sam knew better. "Ah. You should have a bed, mattress, and dresser— assuming Lockne didn't throw anything else in. I'll assist you in building. Let me get us something to drink."

Heartman wasn't much of a drinker. He had a bit as a nightcap on occasion but he drank more for the taste and he had… expensive tastes. Sitting down and building furniture was an activity that usually called for beer and music, he thought.

When he came back he had a can for each of them (and a set of tools). The cans read “Timefall Porter”, the brew from the farm over the mountains that he was given a few months ago as a gift. It had been taking up space in his fridge. Sam already had one of the crates opened, boots off in the hall and his jumpsuit piled on top of them. The porter pulled the hair tie off his head as he took the offered can with a nod.

“It occurred to me that this is probably one of the last few brews made using timefall.” Heartman mused as he settled cross legged on the floor. It was better to have them now than to let them go bad. Besides, he was sure Sam liked beer. Beer and Monster.

Metal parts quickly covered the floor in a chaotic mess as the cargo box was emptied and arranged. "She couldn't have gotten us a PCC version or something?" Sam grumbled.

"Yes well, you can't chiral print everything." Heartman said cheerfully.

When they were done with the bed frame, Sam was on his second can (the rest of Heartman’s, it went mostly untouched and Sam wasn’t one to waste a perfectly good drink). They had moved the crib into the room too, and Lou watched them through the bars until she fell asleep.

Heartman’s “assistance”, as he called it, mostly consisted of being something of a cheerleader. He talked while Sam did most of the work and handed screwdrivers off to him when needed. During the breaks (the three minutes that Heartman had to lay down), Sam considered asking about what it was that he had said to Lockne. What would Heartman say to that? Everything, probably. But Sam couldn’t think of any answer Heartman could give that would satisfy him. Worst case, he’d have to have _that_ conversation again.

It was warm, comfortable, and strangely enough Sam didn’t mind Heartman going on about the sexual dimorphism of beetles, though he couldn’t remember how the conversation ended up there. Asking wasn’t really that important, he decided. He had Lou, a bed, and his own little hole carved out in this corner of the world. With a mattress and central heating, no less. He didn’t want to sound unappreciative anyways.


End file.
